


By Sightless Lightning

by anax imperator (anax)



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003), Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Incest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-24
Updated: 2019-01-23
Packaged: 2019-10-15 07:34:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 39,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17524520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anax/pseuds/anax%20imperator
Summary: Edward has been taking care of Alphonse for so long he can barely remember what his brother was like before the disability.  It's not easy being a caregiver, when Alphonse depends on Edward for everything, but Edward would sooner die than pass along his responsibility.





	1. Chapter 1

The sun had gone down when Edward came outside to check on his brother, and only an indigo glow lingered behind the trees and hills. Alphonse liked sunsets, or so Edward believed; it was impossible to know for sure, but he thought he could see a light of pleasure in his brother's eyes when he was brought outside near dusk. If Edward stayed to watch the sunset with him, though, Alphonse would grow restless, fidget, and perhaps get up out of his chair and stumble.

It had therefore become a nightly ritual: Edward would take Alphonse outside as the sun was beginning to set, sit him in the porch rocking chair and then go back inside. He kept an eye on his brother from the window, but had to take care that Alphonse didn't see him watching.

Once the sun was down, however, it was safe to go outside again. Alphonse wouldn't throw a fit then.

"Here you go," said Edward. He'd popped some corn over the fire, the same way their mother used to when it was cold, and he put the bowl in Alphonse's lap. This required a bit of rearranging of the blanket he'd put over his brother to keep him warm, as autumn was coming and the evening air was starting to acquire a nip. "I don't think I burned very much of it. Heh. I tried to pick out all the burned ones."

There was no answer, but Edward hadn't expected one. Gray-green eyes slipped down to gaze at the bowl of corn, and slowly Alphonse lifted a hand to eat some. It was painful, watching him miss what he was after over and over as he misjudged his aim, but Alphonse got annoyed if Edward tried to help him. And honestly, it was probably better for him to relearn his coordination on his own.

"That letter today was from Mustang," said Edward. He sat down on the porch step, because the only chair was the one Alphonse was sitting in. "He says he's given me another month of leave, so there's no hurry to get back." Groping backward with his left hand, he touched his brother's leg above the ankle. Alphonse made no reply, and Edward didn't mention that these free gifts from Mustang would only last just so long. Eventually, he'd be wanted back in Central, and he had absolutely no idea what he would do if Alphonse weren't better by then.

The house mainly faced the south, and the long track that originated at the door wound off between the hills toward Risenbourg. Winry would be coming by tomorrow, because she always showed up on Wednesdays; she was pretty much the only person other than the mailman who ever came walking up that road. If the other residents had heard that the Elrics had taken up residence here, in what had always been called "the army house" since before Edward could remember, none of them had bothered to come see for themselves.

That was fine with Edward. He didn't want company. It was difficult enough when Winry showed up to drop off groceries and visit for a few hours, and he always hid in the house when the mailman came by.

"It's going to be a hard winter," he said. "Winry says that the wooly worms are all black this year, although I haven't seen any, black or brown or what. It'll really suck to get snowed in out here. I should ask Winry if she can get some firewood for us." He wasn't sure if he'd actually do that. He would probably get recalled long before the snows hit.

The dark glow of the horizon darkened further, slipping steadily away and unveiling the stars. Somewhere nearby, a cricket began to chirp; it would die soon, as the weather turned colder. Edward thought it sounded very lonely. "When we get back to Central, I'll buy you one of those pennywhistles you wanted. Remember how you said I should get one for you, and I told you not to be an idiot, you didn't have any use for a whistle? You were right. I should have gotten one, because you could play it now if I hadn't been so selfish. When we go back, though, I promise I'll buy you one." He grinned hopefully up at Alphonse, but his brother didn't even look at him. The taller boy was still mechanically eating, hand into bowl, then hand to mouth, and sometimes he missed his mouth and dropped the small white puffs onto the porch. He stared off into the distance, rocking a little, and if there was any expression on his face it wasn't visible in the darkness.

Edward went silent then. Maybe two months earlier, there would have been fireflies coming out about now, emerging from the line of trees that concealed the nearby creek. Alphonse had liked the fireflies, and had spent the evenings chasing them around the yard, stumbling and falling a lot, but happy nevertheless. Edward hadn't liked it when his brother caught one, and smeared it into bitter-smelling, phosphorescent goo all over his hands, but he liked to see Alphonse smile. The fireflies were all dead now, though, and Alphonse gave no indication that he wanted to get up from his chair.

The air turned cooler, and a little breeze sprang up; although Edward had provided his brother with a blanket, he himself wore only his pants and a thin black shirt. "Let's go inside," he said.

It took several tries to get Alphonse to understand that he needed to stand up, but once he was upright it was easy enough to guide him inside the house. The half-empty bowl of corn was left on the porch for the morning birds.

As sometimes happened, Alphonse looked around the rooms as if he'd never seen them before, a light of interest coming to his eyes as he stopped to examine the staircase, a chair, half an apple left over from lunch and turning brown on a plate on the table. Edward let him do whatever he wanted, and, when Alphonse was finished with each object, herded him closer to the library. They got there eventually, and Edward put his brother into the armchair next to the fire. He tucked a blanket around Alphonse's knees too, but it was kicked off a moment later.

"Too warm? Okay." He folded the blanket and put it over the back of the chair instead. It was encouraging when Alphonse showed a preference for something, so he offered his brother a smile. Only a vague stare was returned. "Want something else to eat? There's still some oranges left."

He went and got one out of the kitchen and peeled and sectioned it, and offered a piece of Alphonse. It was accepted after a thoughtful moment, and Edward was pleased when Alphonse started to nibble on it. He set the rest of the sectioned orange on a plate next to the armchair, and made sure Alphonse's gaze had fixed on it before he moved away again.

There weren't very many books in the library; the shelves had been almost completely empty when Edward and Alphonse had arrived. Edward had had a couple of alchemy books with him, but he hadn't touched them since setting them on a shelf. Winry had brought a couple from her own house, but the one he took down now was one of the few that had been left by the house's prior occupants. It was a book of faerie tales, and Edward had no idea what kind of person had purchased it, brought it to this house, and then left it behind when they moved out. The property was owned by the military, but it was hard to imagine any military person with a need to hide out near Risenbourg having a desire for a book like this.

Turning on a lamp and settling into his own chair, farther from the fire, Edward opened the oversized book on his lap. Metal fingers slithered over the pages. "What do you want to hear?" he asked. He'd read them all to Alphonse before, but his brother seemed to like some of them even if he read them over and over again. "The Unicorn's Nephew? Or how about The Donkey in the Snow Queen's Palace? You like that one, don't you?"

A quick glance at Alphonse showed no interest at all in stories; he was instead picking with all the gravity of a scholar at a section of orange. Juice had smeared over his fingers. He looked like a small child, and Edward wondered what he was thinking. If anything.

He had to pause a moment before he could trust his voice to speak again, and he took his time paging through the book to the right spot. The illustration at the beginning of the story was a fanciful sketch of a small donkey standing at the end of a grand blue hall, or ballroom maybe. "You like this one," he said again, and started to read. "Once upon a time, a certain man was taking his vegetables into town to sell. He loaded up his wagon with them, vegetables of all types - carrots and onions and potatoes and all kinds of vegetables - and hitched his donkey to the wagon to pull it, and they set off toward the village. But as they were passing down a hillside into a valley, it began to snow ..."

* * *

When Edward got to the part where the donkey was learning to dance in the Snow Queen's court, he glanced up toward Alphonse and found his brother dozing a bit in the chair. Closing the book, he set it aside and went over to move him. It was fully dark now, and the only light came from the fireplace and the lamp behind Edward's head.

"Come on," he said, shaking Alphonse by the shoulder. Gray eyes opened, looking even more unfocused than usual, but then they caught up on Edward. And then Alphonse smiled, and for an instant all was right with the world. Edward smiled back and said, "That's it. Come on, let's go to bed." While Alphonse was deciding whether or not he actually wanted to stand up, Edward banked the fire and turned out the lamp.

Alphonse had trouble negotiating the stairs, and took them very slowly. He didn't really need help walking anymore, but Edward remained close by in case he tripped on a step, or got distracted by something, which happened all too often. Tonight, though, they got upstairs without event.

Going downstairs in the morning could be an adventure.

The orange had gotten all over Alphonse, and Edward wet down a towel and wiped his brother's mouth and hands before telling him to get undressed. Alphonse didn't need help with this anymore, either, and he threw his clothes forcefully across the room when he got each garment off.

Once he was down to his underwear, he sat on the edge of the bed and looked expectantly up at Edward, edged in the soft light of the lamp.

Something twisted in Edward's belly, and he wasn't entirely sure what emotion produced it.

It had certainly seemed like a good idea when he'd caught Alphonse masturbating about a month after the transmutation. Ineptly. After the fact, Edward wasn't too surprised, but at the time it had shocked the hell out of him to find out that his little brother was in some way sexual. It had seemed cruel to leave him like that, though, crying with frustration because he was aroused but not coordinated enough to jack himself off, so Edward had done it for him. And the next time Alphonse rubbed up against him with an erection, Edward had done it for him again, and a precedent was set. Over the months they'd spent here, Edward had masturbated his brother dozens of times. It was probable that Alphonse could have taken care of himself now, but he never tried.

And by all that was unholy, Edward was learning to like it.

It was one thing to touch his brother simply because Alphonse couldn't do it himself. It was quite another to push his brother onto his back on the bed, and kiss him, and nuzzle his neck, the way he did now. Or to take a nipple into his mouth to tease as his hand slipped over Alphonse's clothed erection. The object was no longer to get Alphonse some relief as quickly as possible; these days, Edward did things because he wanted Alphonse to enjoy it.

It was the least he could do.

He could taste the orange when he kissed Alphonse again, and something else. Something that was always there, but which he'd never been able to identify. It had disturbed him the first time he'd given in to the temptation to kiss, but now he associated the strange flavor with sex, and he gasped a little with sudden arousal. The sound was echoed by Alphonse, writhing now under the gentle strokes of Edward's hand. Fingers buried in his hair, tangled in the braid.

"Oh," moaned Alphonse, and Edward's heart contracted, although this was not the first time he'd heard Alphonse's voice at times like this. There were never any words, but Edward couldn't help encouraging him.

"Yeah," he whispered, nipping his brother's ear. "Speak to me, Al." He rested his weight on his automail shoulder and slid his hand between fabric and skin to lightly caress his brother's cock.

"Ahhh," said Alphonse, eyes closed. His hips thrust upward into Edward's hand, his erection hot and full, and moist at the tip.

"Speak to me," murmured Edward again, his tongue dipping into Alphonse's ear between the words and his hand moving. "Al, I'll love you no matter what you say. Anything."

There were to be no words tonight, though. Edward gave up his entreaties soon enough, and simply browsed his brother's body with his lips. Alphonse's skin was so soft in places, so easy to touch, even when that skin dampened a little with sweat. The way he twitched and squirmed was incredibly arousing, and when he ran his hands over Edward's back it felt like forgiveness.

Presently, Alphonse raised his chin, mouth open as his back arched, and Edward stroked a little faster. He licked his brother's neck, rubbing himself against all that passion as Alphonse hesitated, tense enough to snap, and then groaned in pleasure. Edward couldn't help moaning as well, being that close as Alphonse came.

Alphonse relaxed and caught his breath while Edward licked his hand clean, and then he wanted to kiss. So Edward kissed him, tasted the orange again, and wanted to die.

Edward and guilt were old friends. He didn't let it get in his way for long.

When Alphonse started to seem drowsy, Edward tucked him into bed, and then retreated to the bathroom to deal with his own erection. As wrong as it was to enjoy the taste of his brother's moans, it would be even more wrong to masturbate in front of him. He was thinking of his brother's body, though, as he jacked off. And by the time he was finished, he was crying, and he couldn't have picked just one reason why.


	2. Chapter 2

Winry was late this week; she usually came by in the morning on Wednesdays, but Wednesday came and went with no sign of her. Edward disliked this lateness, although he wasn't truly dependent on her to make sure the two of them were fed. It was a disruption of habit.

Around midafternoon, Alphonse began to pick up on Edward's unease, and when Edward put him outside to watch the sunset Alphonse refused to sit quietly. Fidgeting, he tried to stand up when Edward moved to go back into the house and, because he was agitated, tripped immediately.

"Don't you want to sit outside tonight?" Edward asked as he helped Alphonse stand, while the wind made the trees by the creek chatter at each other. When Edward chanced to look that direction, he could see that the leaves were silver in the murky dusk; it was looking like this day had more to hand him before it departed. The only reply he received was the soft touch of fingers picking at his shirt.

He tried once more to leave Alphonse on the porch, and when that failed he simply moved his brother back into the house with the sun still on the lip of the sky. Alphonse quieted as soon as he was back indoors, but when he was told to sit in the chair by the fire he instead sank to the floor. After a little thought, Edward left him there, staring at the fire, and sat in the armchair beside the hearth to moodily do the same thing.

"If Winry doesn't show tomorrow ..." he murmured, but didn't finish the thought aloud. There would be no choice but to venture beyond the property line to find out what had happened to her. The idea was not appealing; there was no direct way to Winry's home aside from straight through town, and he was less than eager to enter Risenbourg. Really, he ought to go over there tonight, this moment - she could be laying injured somewhere, after all - but what would he do with Alphonse? Leaving Alphonse alone in the dark was just unacceptable, even if it might conceivably be easier if his brother were sleeping.

There was a way to Winry's home without going through town, but it meant hiking through some uncut timberland and fording the river. Absolutely impossible with Alphonse in tow, not that taking the road there with Alphonse would be any quicker, or much easier. Edward thought it pretty certain that he would have to leave his brother here. There was a lot in that to annoy him, and his frown deepened the more he thought about it.

His glance fell down on his brother then, who was no longer looking at the fire but sitting on the hardwood floor in the firelight with his arm extended and two fingers, index and middle, extended also. The tips of those fingers traced a curved line on the floor, a third of a circle centered on himself. Edward felt his frown twisting a little, and forced a smile instead.

"Why are you doing that?" he asked, as gently as he could.

Alphonse looked over his shoulder and there was nothing but innocence in his slate-green eyes. There was a moment when Edward wanted to reach down and slap his brother's hands, yell at him to _never ever do that again_ and smudge the line of the undrawn circle; he mastered the urge with difficulty. He even managed to avoid saying, "I wish you wouldn't do that," but only at the cost of a strangled little noise.

At the sound, Alphonse laid a hand on Edward's ankle, then his head on Edward's knee like a faithful dog. Edward did have to make an objection then.

"Come on, sit up Al. Don't look at me that way."

Alphonse didn't respond right away, but at a second prompting and a nudge he pulled himself up by Edward's knee and crawled halfway into Edward's lap. The chair was really too small to hold them both, so Alphonse kept his legs on the floor in order to burrow his face into Edward's shoulder.

"No," said Edward, stroking his brother's head. "It's okay. I'm not mad." He was probably reading too much into the gesture his brother had been making at the floor, anyway. His own ill-mood surfacing at what was probably just an innocent nothing, traced because arcs were easy to trace. He ran his fingers through that fine, rough-cropped hair, and the sensation was a memory of when they'd been young and whole, and alchemy had seemed benign.

He didn't know what made him turn to kiss his brother; Alphonse wasn't crying, and although he seemed to want reassurance, soft kisses on his temple and cheek probably weren't what he'd been after. The kisses were not scorned, however, and it took only a moment for Alphonse to raise his head so that Edward could reach his lips. A little squirming was all it took to put Alphonse on a level where he could be secure in Edward's arms. And to persuade Alphonse to open his mouth, all Edward had to do was probe gently with his tongue.

It was all so easy.

Edward's left hand slid under his brother's shirt, caressing velvet-smooth skin, while his unfeeling right held Alphonse close. He didn't know why he was doing this - Alphonse had given no indication that he wanted any sort of sexual contact until the first kisses - but it felt like something he ought to do. Or maybe just something he wanted to do. Maybe something he needed to do.

Soft panting against his cheek accompanied Alphonse's arms going around him. When his brother brought one knee up onto the chair to improve his balance, Edward could feel Alphonse's erection. That taste, that whatever-it-was that flavored his brother's mouth, had already signaled, and Edward's body had responded.

Way too easy. Edward kissed back toward Alphonse's ear, and was suddenly ashamed. Gentle hands pulled at his shirt, and may or may not find their way beneath to touch him, but that sense of wrongness, that I-should-not-be-doing-this feeling had finally arrived. It was strong this time, and momentarily nauseating.

Wet, messy kisses landed wherever Alphonse could touch mouth to skin, artless and heedless. When Edward paused, trying not to understand what he'd done this time, Alphonse squirmed and nipped his cheek. It was too late for second thoughts now; Alphonse was aroused, and there was no way for Edward to undo what he'd done in an instant of wanting comfort from his brother.

"I'm sorry." Surprising Alphonse with a strong, sudden hug, Edward whispered again, "I'm sorry, Al." It was not clear whether or not Alphonse understood.

With a little persuasion, Edward got his brother to slide off the chair and kneel again on the floor. Edward went down with him, and kissed him there while Alphonse again attempted to tug off his elder's black shirt. When it became clear that this was going to take Alphonse a long time to manage, if ever, Edward pulled it off over his head and let his brother touch him. Soft fingers moved across his chest, followed by Alphonse's soft grey gaze.

"I'm sorry," said Edward again, and those shadowed eyes lifted to Edward's. There was no comprehension there, that Edward could see.

He smiled a little, although it felt like something very unlike a smile, and carefully unbuttoned his brother's shirt so he could mark those perfect shoulders with his tongue. The warmth radiating from the hearth lay like a physical touch against Edward's skin as he raked his teeth over Alphonse's neck to elicit quiet little trembling gasps. His brother's hands were on him, arms around him, and guilt moved like a cold lead serpent in his belly and somehow did nothing to lessen his own arousal.

Warmed automail ran over Alphonse's back as Edward unfastened his brother's pants and tugged them down enough to touch the erection inside; the foreskin was damp and tacky with sweat, but it moved smoothly enough. Alphonse tilted his head back and moaned, arms falling away from Edward's body, and he possibly would have canted over if Edward hadn't been holding him up. Edward turned him, nudging and tugging until Alphonse turned sideways to lean against his inflexible metal shoulder, hip against Edward's groin and legs sprawled out over one of his. Eyes closed, Alphonse made no motion to help or hinder, but only lay against Edward like a heavy doll, accepting what was given.

"Ahh," sighed Alphonse, as he gently came. He remained quietly held against Edward shoulder as Edward licked the semen off his fingers and palm.

"I'm sorry," said Edward again, and kissed his brother's temple. He was terribly hard, but told himself there would be time enough for that later. With his fingers clean, he ran them through his brother's hair, affectionate and slow, as the fire whispered to itself beside them; presently, Alphonse began to wetly mouth his neck and ear.

The window flickered white, and a moment later a bass grumble of thunder rolled over the house. "Damn," said Edward, half at the still-distant storm, and half at the way that Alphonse was not helping his erection. The clumsy, hesitant motion of teeth and tongue on his neck roughly mimicked what he'd done to Alphonse earlier, and it went straight down to his groin and was starting to make the ache there unbearable.

He hadn't been planning to pull away, disengage himself from his brother and stand up, leave him alone on the floor in front of the fire and all of its potential for dangerous mischief, and hurry into the bathroom to masturbate. But that's what he did anyway.

At least he wasn't worrying about Winry anymore.

* * *

The worry was back when he awakened, with Alphonse curled up against him and rain hammering against the window. The thunder and lightning had expended themselves during the night, and now all that remained of the storm was a steady, gray downpour. It looked cold and, when Edward rose and put his hand against the window, felt cold.

With Alphonse asleep, it was easy to pretend that things had gone a different way. That he would call his brother's name, and Alphonse would throw a pillow at him and say, _Let me sleep, Nii-san,_ and when Edward persisted in waking him he'd suggest that Nii-san go make some damned breakfast and he'd be down when it was done. Or maybe Edward would go shake him by the shoulder, and Alphonse would give him a sleepy, animal glare before grabbing him by the wrist and yanking him back down into bed. Then Alphonse would kiss him and ...

Edward cut that line of thinking right off. "Al," he said, and he did go over to shake his brother by the shoulder. When Alphonse finally started to wake, however, the smile he had for Edward was vague and unfocused. Edward got him up out of bed, bathed and dressed, downstairs and fed, and all the while he was looking uneasily out the window at the misty curtain of rain.

The rain continued until almost noon, and by the time it let up there was still no Winry. Edward eyed the lane nervously through the window as the rain pattered out and left the world damp and cold and clean. Behind him, Alphonse sat in one of the living room chairs, with one arm extended and his fingers spread, staring at the back of his hand. Every now and then, he'd move his arm around in stiff, awkward circles, tracking the motion with his eyes.

"I'm going to have to go see what happened to her," said Edward. He looked toward Alphonse, who ignored him in favor of the fascination of his own hand. "Do you think you can stay out of trouble for a couple of hours?" Alphonse continued to ignore him. "No, of course not. Damn." Short of tying his brother to the chair, there was no way to ensure Alphonse wouldn't go wandering, and trip up the steps or get into the coals. Edward briefly toyed with the idea of doing just that, but dismissed it a moment later. If there was a room in the house with a lock on it, that would certainly help, but the front door didn't even have a lock.

Eventually he did the best he could, by clearing the hot ashes out of the fireplace and tossing them out the back door and into a puddle, which hissed angrily at the treatment, and putting a sectioned apple on the floor near Alphonse. It was too much to hope that his brother would remain in one place for the couple of hours it would take to hike out to Winry's and back, but Edward didn't know what else to do.

Alphonse watched with interest as Edward put on his underjacket and stamped on his boots, but when he saw the red coat come out of the closet an expression of indefinite unhappiness clouded his eyes. Edward didn't even get completely out the door before Alphonse was trying to get up.

"Al," he said, coming back inside, but not in time to catch his brother; Alphonse managed to take three steps before crashing down onto his knees. "Shit. Why are you trying to move around _now?"_ Scarlet fabric wadded up in Alphonse's clutching fingers as Edward transferred his brother to the couch. It must have hurt like hell to land hard on his knees like that, but Alphonse didn't seem to care.

"Stay here, now," said Edward. "Okay? I won't be gone long, I promise." He smoothed Alphonse's hair back and smiled for him, then kissed him on the forehead. Alphonse quieted, but as soon as Edward opened the front door he made a wordless, anguished sound and was trying once again to stand.

Fuck. "No. You can't come with me. I'm not leaving you, okay? I'm not going anywhere, I'm just checking on Winry." Words alone would not do; Alphonse managed to get upright again, and Edward was close enough this time to catch him when he inevitably tripped. The grip on his sleeves was stronger, and couldn't be gently pried loose even when Edward had his brother down on the couch again.

Crouching at Alphonse's feet, held by the sleeves, Edward just rested his forehead on his brother's knee and despaired.

"This is unbelievable. This is unbelievable. I just cannot believe this."

As if in reply, Alphonse tugged hard on his coat sleeves, and leaned down to rest his cheek against Edward's hair.

A little sun came out then, slanting in through the window behind the couch. A cloud soon came and covered it, but before long the sun was back. Edward watched it come and go, and wanted to rip something apart. Alphonse would not release him, tightening his grip whenever Edward tried to pull away.

He was finally saved by the sound of horse whinnying from just out front, and a loud, bold knock on the door that startled both brothers even with the warning.

Sick with hopeful relief, Edward raised his head and yelled, "Door's open."

"Sorry I'm late! I brought a ..." The bright grin that Winry brought into the house with her faded into a baffled scowl when she saw Edward on the floor. "What are you doing down there?"

"Trying not to break Al's fingers." Hoping that he didn't look utterly pathetic, and fearing that he _did,_ Edward asked, "Could you, y'know, help me get loose here?"

Winry didn't even bother to close the door; the air that swirled in was cool and wet, and smelled musty. "Hi there, Al!" she said brightly. "Why don't let go of Ed? I don't know why you want him, he's not good for much anyway." With a sharp yank in the correct spot, she slipped Edward's right sleeve out of Alphonse's grasp.

"Gee, thanks a lot."

"Don't whine." She did the same for his left sleeve, although this one took a bit longer, and Alphonse was starting to twitch unhappily. "It's okay, Al. I'm not taking him away from you. Damn, Ed, what'd you do to him?"

"Nothing! I was just about to go look for your dead body by the side of the road, and he didn't like me leaving." Freed, Edward hopped up onto the couch, with the idea that he should make sure his brother understood that he wasn't going anywhere now. Alphonse grabbed his hand and leaned against his shoulder, and Edward let him.

Winry was giving him a strange look. "What makes you think I'd be laying dead by the side of the road?"

"You weren't here, for one."

She just shook her head, and walked out the door.

"Winry!" If she was leaving again ...

But she wasn't. She reappeared in the doorway with a couple of boxes, carrying things in from her wagon. "No, stay there," she said, when Edward would have tried to get up to help her bring things in. "It's not like I need a man to come get his _own_ junk into the house." She carried the boxes into the kitchen, and Edward heard her exclaim, "Edward Elric, you are hopeless!" Doubtless, she had just spotted the mess in there.

"What took you so long, anyway?" he asked, when she came striding back through the house to fetch more things.

In answer, she threw something flat and rectangular at him. He caught it with his free hand as it hit him in the chest, and he looked it over while she was getting more things to bring in.

"A catalogue?"

"I thought you might want to look it over," she said as she passed through. "In case there's anything you wanted to order from it before winter starts." Then she was gone into the kitchen again.

"You made me worry over a _catalogue?"_

She came back out and shut the door, giving it a hard shove to make sure it was latched. "If you had a phone, I could have called to let you know I'd be late. I was waiting for it to come in the mail, and you know we get our mail on Wednesdays on the other side of town."

"If I had a phone, Mustang could call me too." Alphonse was starting to take an interest in the pictures in the catalogue, sketched outlines of men and women wearing the advertised clothing, or using the advertised farming implements, so Edward tilted it to let him see. "What exactly is in here that you think I'd be interested in, anyway?"

"I don't know. Maybe nothing. I'm sure there's nothing in there you can't get in Central, but since you're here and not in Central, I figured you might want to take a look at it." She made no move to sit down, or go elsewhere in the house, and seemed to be content to just stand in the foyer with one hand on her hip. "You really should get a phone. What if you fell down the stairs and broke your leg?"

Edward eyed her.

She made a face. "I mean it. If something happened to you, you'd have no way of letting anybody know!"

"Nothing's going to happen to me, don't be so dramatic. What did you bring this for anyway?" He shook the catalogue at her.

"I told you. If you're going to stay the winter, you might need some more stuff than what you have now." Winry came over to take the catalogue out of Edward's hand; Alphonse looked up toward her when she did, and confusion briefly crossed his face.

"I'm not so sure we'll be here all winter." It was hard to admit.

Winry was paging through the catalogue now and didn't look at him. "Why not? Are they calling you back?"

"Not yet." Alphonse was holding Edward more loosely now, and he attempted to get his hand free. "It's just a matter of time, though."

The page-flipping ceased, and when Edward looked up he found Winry giving him a peculiar sort of glare. "It would be pretty rotten of them to expect you to work with Al in this kind of condition."

"Yeah, but I don't think consideration is very high on the list in the big military book of priorities." Edward knew that Winry hated pretty much everything there was to the military, and that this statement would not endear it to her any further. She'd asked him to quit a couple of times, not understanding that it was just simply not that easy. He forced a cheerfulness that he did not feel and patted his brother on the knee. "It'll be okay. I'm sure Al will be better by the time I have to go back."

The peculiar look was still being leveled at him. "Ed," said Winry in a low tone, and it sounded like the beginning of something, but if it was she didn't go any further with it. After a moment she shrugged and tossed the catalogue back at him. "I'm going to go clean your kitchen, you lazy bastard."

Alphonse struggled to his feet immediately when Edward suggested that he stand, and together they followed Winry. She was already clearing off the table when they got there, dropping dishes into the sink and trash into the bucket by the back door. "Sit here, Al," he said.

"Start unpacking that box," said Winry. The box turned out to contain mostly canned vegetables, each mason jar topped with a cheerful little piece of plaid fabric; Edward wondered who had done that as he pushed the jars one by one into a cupboard.

After a bit of silent cleaning, Winry continued, "I don't know. I don't live with him and you do. Maybe he's getting better and I just can't see it, but ..."

Edward interrupted her. "He is."

A bit more silence. "Has he said anything yet?"

"No." When Edward looked, Alphonse was watching him closely. "Sometimes I think he wants to, though. Like all he needs to do is remember how."

Winry had never told him to stop. Edward knew that sometimes she wished she had; sometimes he wished _somebody_ had, when he was selfish enough to shunt responsibility off onto the world for not stopping him. _Just quit while you're ahead,_ was something Winry had never said, and Edward would have been angry if she'd done it. How could he have been ahead when Alphonse was just a voice and cold steel?

She'd never said it, so she was spared the effort of trying not to say that she'd told him so. Edward heard it nevertheless, in the punctuated silence that followed.


	3. Chapter 3

_Every waking hour I'm  
Choosing my confessions_

Alphonse was in one of his energetic moods, which was unfortunate because it didn't happen until after dark, and rain had picked up at dusk. Edward would have liked to put him outside, because there wasn't any room in the house that was big enough to keep him from knocking into things when he got careless, but the darkness and rain neatly precluded that. The next best option was the living room, although it had no fireplace and was therefore somewhat cold.

It was raining a lot more as autumn advanced, and the rain became steadily colder. The usually-spectacular fall colors had come and gone in a nondescript brown muddle under the assault of the frequent rain, leaving the creek swollen and the trees skeletal. The golden grass in the yard was turning grey now, and Edward was starting to feel _cooped._ But not so much yet that he was inclined to leave.

He brought a blanket and one of Winry's novels into the living room with him and stretched out on the couch, while his brother worked on exhausting his inexplicable nervous energy. Before opening the book, Edward watched him for awhile, watched him crouch motionless on the floor for the space of a long breath and then suddenly leap to his feet, spin awkwardly in a half-circle, then collapse back into a crouch to repeat. It didn't take long for him to spin himself too quickly and fall into a table; Edward stood up and would have gone to help him untangle himself from the furniture, but Alphonse growled at him.

Edward stopped at the growl, hesitated, and then returned to where he'd been and left his brother to sort out his own limbs. Sometimes it was like that. He told himself that there was nothing for it, but a needle of rejection stabbed him in the chest anyway.

Miraculously, neither the table nor Alphonse appeared to have taken injury, and soon enough the sandy-haired boy was again crouched on the floor, measuring out his pause.

The second time Alphonse fell into something (a dusty and disused plant stand), Edward had to bury his attention in his book. He couldn't watch anymore. Listening was hard enough, and the rain wasn't loud enough, nor the thunder frequent enough.

Nor was the book engaging enough, although he gave it a good try for over an hour. The books Winry had brought were mainly the kind of story that involved a lot of shy blushes and coy innuendo, and this one was no different. He forced his way through it, through shy looks and subtle hints that were somehow expected to communicate something, and finally he got to an argument between the two protagonists that made so little sense that he had to give up. He suspected that they'd kiss when the argument was finished, and was in no hurry to reach that bit anyway.

"This is ridiculous." Sprawling out across the couch, he let the book carry his hand to the floor. "Is this how girls really think?" He glanced toward Alphonse, who had gone still and was watching him with a small smile. "Listen to this, this girl drops these little hints that she wants to kiss this guy, and now she's told all her _friends_ but not him. And she's mad at him because he doesn't know." He thought about it a little, and then added, "Maybe he's supposed to be a spiritualist and getting guidance from beyond. _That_ would make sense, in a wacky kind of way."

Alphonse laughed as if he understood, and Edward grinned at him, raising the book as if he were about to throw it at his brother. "I can't believe Winry likes crap like this."

At this point, Alphonse should have said, _I can't believe you read as much of it as you did, Nii-san._ Edward could almost hear the words in the air, but they weren't voiced, and Alphonse only hopped to his feet and spun around in a half-circle.

Lowering the book again, Edward felt his grin melt and disappear. "I miss you, Al," he said finally, toward the floor. "I miss ..." _Everything._ The arguments, the fights, the card games, the discussions, the jokes and laughter. The trust, even when it took awhile to come around, from both sides. Comfortable silences.

He hadn't been able to touch his brother, but he'd had everything else. Now they could touch, and he'd lost the rest, and only the silence remained.

When Edward raised his eyes again, his brother was still at his spinning game and paying no attention at all.

Unable to stand it anymore, Edward left the book and blanket on the couch and went out onto the porch. He would have liked his coat ... it was messy and wet and cold, and the rain cascaded out of the night a little over a yard from the door, raising a fine chilling mist that clung to his arms and hands. This was more bothersome on his left arm to start, but he knew that it was only a matter of time before the automail picked up the cold, and that could be tortuous.

Coatless and barefoot, he stood on the porch and watched the rain for a little while before walking out from under the eaves, taking the three steps down into the puddle of muddy cold water.

There was very little wind, but the first touch of rain on his face and arm was a shock; it was even colder than he'd expected. He spread his arms to either side and raised his face, closed his eyes, and let the rain come. The first trickles to get under his shirt and run down his back made him shiver, but before long his shirt was soaked, and so was his hair. The world strobed around him, and the crack of thunder sounded very close.

It was like being wrapped in ice. It felt good. It felt sane.

He was just about to go back inside when something out-of-place caught his attention; it wasn't immediately identifiable, as it was gone before he registered that it didn't belong. Brushing the wet hair back out of his eyes, Edward went still, peering blindly into the darkness for some kind of clue.

"Hmph." Maybe he'd imagined it ... but then it repeated itself. It was a sound, different from the sounds of hissing rain and crackling trees, and he barely had time to classify the sound as a voice before the owner of the hallo stepped into the dim halo of the light from the living room window, wrapped up in a hooded raincoat.

"Edward Elric? That _is_ you, isn't it?"

Alert now that it was too late, skin prickling with something that might have been alarm or the first touch of fear, Edward shifted his stance slightly to put his shoulder toward the intruder. Rainwater dripped down into his eyes, and he blinked a bit to clear his vision. "Who wants to know?"

There was hesitation, and then, "Russell Tringham."

* * *

Edward did not immediately invite him in. They lingered on the porch, rainwater dripping off Russell's coat and every inch of Edward, and neither of them sitting in Alphonse's rocking chair. Edward was starting to become seriously cold, but he wanted to know what the younger alchemist was up to before he started acting hospitable. 

"I'm sorry to show up so late," said Russell, who to Edward's annoyance seemed to have grown even taller yet in the intervening years. "I got some bad directions and got turned around at the crossroads, or I would have been here before dark."

"You're presuming an awful lot. What makes you think we want visitors, whether before or after dark?"

If he was affected by Edward's hostile tone, Russell did a good job of concealing it. "If you want me to leave, I will."

Edward had no idea how Russell had managed to find the house in the darkness and sluicing rain; turning him away and sending him to find town or other shelter in this kind of weather would be kind of cruel. Not as bad as if it were sleeting ... but if the temperature was really continuing to fall the way it felt to Edward, it might start sleeting soon. Sleet would be unseasonable, but not unheard-of. Then again, it was possible that he was shivering only because his automail was dead cold, and not because the weather was actually getting colder.

It was comforting to think that his unwanted visitor wasn't going to try to force his presence upon them, though.

"How'd you hear that we were here?" Edward asked.

"I didn't." Russell shook the skirt of his coat and scattered raindrops. "I looked in East City first, but you weren't there, obviously. I was told that you'd been transferred back to Central with the rest of your unit, so I went there next. Nobody in Central would even talk to me, except to say that you weren't there either. The rumor on the street was that you'd been transferred somewhere else, some said Southern Headquarters, some said East City, but I figured the military would admit it if you were just based somewhere else now. And I already knew you weren't in East City."

"So you decided to look here in some kind of fit of intuition. Brilliant. Want applause?" His shoulder was starting to ache beneath the automail port, and this wasn't improving Edward's mood. His thigh wasn't echoing the ache yet, but it was just a matter of time.

"Actually, no." Russell smiled a little. "I just thought that maybe somebody here would know what had happened to you. I didn't expect you to really be here. Where's your brother, by the way?"

It shouldn't hurt to be asked that. "Inside." He didn't elaborate, and this was accepted without question. Edward was starting to think that he shouldn't be leaving Alphonse alone this long, and gave the door an involuntary glance.

Russell sighed a little. "I can understand if you don't want me here. I would have written if I'd known you were here, and I really thought I could get here before dark."

"I'm glad you understand that." Edward moved to lean against the door, listening for sounds inside. "So why were you looking for me?"

The rain seemed to briefly slack up a bit, but then came back just as thickly as before. "I want to ask you to teach me."

"Pardon?" Edward couldn't have heard that correctly.

The stiff oilcloth raincoat rustled a bit as its owner shifted his weight. "I've had a lot of time to think about it. I came to ask you if you'd teach me what you know about alchemy."

Edward didn't really intend to laugh, but he couldn't help it; it was a bitter, horrible sound. "You want me ... _me_ ... to teach you about alchemy." He laughed again. Ludicrous.

He wasn't looking directly at Russell anymore, unable to face the naivete that would ask something like _that_ of him, but he could hear the strain in Russell's silence. When he'd laughed himself out, and wiped the tears from his eyes, he cast his gaze at the porch overhang.

"I didn't think it would be that funny," said Russell in a soft voice.

"You just have absolutely no idea." Edward opened the door, and said, "Come in."

Edward had drip-dried somewhat on the porch, but not completely, and his pant legs speckled the floor with water as he moved. "Hang up your coat beside the door," he said, stepping into the better light of the living room lamp. Alphonse had fortunately not moved very far, investigating the book that Edward had discarded, and he smiled up as his elder brother approached. "Al, want to go to the library?"

The automail arm was a known thing to Russell, but Edward couldn't recall the taller blonde learning about the other lost limb. Well, he could hear that his footsteps sounded distinctly different, one from the other; as accustomed to the difference as he was, it seemed impossible for Russell to not notice. When he cast a wary look Russell's way, though, his visitor was politely looking anywhere but at either Elric. "Come on, Al," Edward repeated, and touched his brother on the shoulder.

It took one more prompting before Alphonse climbed to his feet, less energetic now, but he was still in a contrary mood and twisted free from Edward's steadying hold on his arm. "Library," said Edward, with a nudge in the proper direction. He remained close by, though.

Alphonse made it almost to Russell before stumbling. Edward caught him, helped him back upright and then let go again, and glared viciously at Russell. _Is this what you want to learn?_

If there was effort involved in not staring at Alphonse, Edward couldn't see it on Russell's face.

When he caught Alphonse a second time in the library, Edward moved him into the chair next to the fireplace; it was hard to judge with his own hands icy, but his brother's hands felt somewhat cold. "Sit down," said Edward to Russell as he put a blanket over his brother's knees, and settled on the floor himself with his back to Alphonse's chair and his right shoulder to the fire. He stretched out his arm to catch as much heat on the automail as possible.

Russell hadn't sat down, and looked a bit lost in this library that was so bare of books, so Edward said again, "Sit down. You'll make Al nervous if you just stand there." This was a lie, Alphonse didn't care one way or the other and didn't seem to have even noticed Russell yet, but it had the desired effect.

"So tell me what I can teach you about alchemy. How to fuck up your life with it? How to destroy everybody around you? I could teach you that easily, and it probably wouldn't even take very long." A hand landed on his hair, and Alphonse began to toy with his wet braid.

Like any good supplicant, Russell had overlooked all the angry, bitter things that Edward threw at him, and he overlooked this as well although a hint of color came to his cheeks. "You're a good alchemist," he said.

"I _was_ an irresponsible alchemist," Edward corrected.

Russell opened his mouth a little, and then closed it. Edward eyed him a bit, and said, "I did this to Al. And myself."

It was an interesting struggle that was played out on Russell's face; he wanted to know, but didn't want to ask. Edward frowned at him, and made no effort to make things easier ... if his visitor wanted to know, Edward was going to damned well make him ask. And, finally, he did. "What did you do?"

Edward thought about it. _We tried to resurrect someone. We broke every rule, committed a crime against God and the person we were trying to bring back._ And survived it. In Edward's case, three times running, although he had sort of cheated on the last one. That was the important part, the part that, when an alchemist happened to find out about it, sometimes brought the kind of blank bewilderment to their eyes that almost nothing else could. Edward used to like it, at least a little. Sugar mixed in with the vinegar. _Yes, I screwed up, but look at what I did. I accomplished more in my error than you ever could in your success._

Maybe he still liked it, but instead of confessing, he said after a pause, "Wouldn't you like to know."

"Well ..."

"Of course you would. Want to drop your own little brother off a cliff? I can show you how. Then you, too, can transmute without an array, and the cost is so _low."_

Russell's eyes were very blue in the firelight, and he glanced toward Alphonse in confusion. "I don't understand."

"It's not important. It was a mistake, and we paid for it, and tried to put it right, and ..." He turned his head a little, but didn't really try to look at his brother; Alphonse was still playing with his braid. "You can see the result. I suppose ... by one way of thinking, this could be considered an improvement, but don't expect any witty conversation. He hasn't quite recovered yet." Anger that this person was even present overrode most of Edward's other emotions, but he still had to swallow hard as he said this.

Edward knew he wasn't managing to convey very much. That was all right, though, he wasn't intending to.

Russell looked completely out of his element. Whatever he'd expected to encounter when he finally managed to locate the Fullmetal Alchemist again, it clearly hadn't been a slew of half-information and ill-veiled hostility. He gave Alphonse a thoughtful look, and Edward frowned.

"Don't stare at him, he's not a lab exhibit."

Instantly, Russell's eyes snapped back to Edward. "I'm sorry. I'm not trying to offend you, really. And I'm not trying to pry into ... whatever happened. I just ..." He looked down toward the warm wood floor and said, "I can't go any farther without help."

"Then get help. But not from me."

"I've seen other alchemists," said Russell quietly. "None of them were as good as you."

Edward startled Alphonse by standing up; with Russell sitting, Edward could look down on the younger alchemist. His pants were still wet, and clung to his legs. "Aren't you listening to me? Am I talking to the chair, or to you? Whatever it is that you think I can teach you, you don't want to learn it."

Another glance was cast Alphonse's way, furtive this time. When Russell spoke, some of the servile politeness had left his voice. "There's no reason to think that I'd repeat your mistakes."

"There's equally no reason to think that you wouldn't. And no reason at all to tell you how to make them. Look," he said, when Russell would have said more. "The more you argue with me, the less I want to teach you how to draw a circle, much less what goes inside. So forget it."

Had their roles been reversed, Edward would perhaps have disputed this flat denial ... he _had_ disputed it, in fact, when he'd been the one begging for a teacher. Russell was not him. "I'm sorry to bother you," he said, and stood up.

"Where are you going?" asked Edward, as Alphonse touched the back of his leg.

"I don't want to impose on you any more."

Edward scoffed. "Don't be stupid. You can sleep on the couch."

* * *

It might have been Edward's wishful thinking, but his brother's grey eyes seemed brighter later that night when they climbed their slow way upstairs to sleep.

"You are getting better, aren't you Al?" he asked, sitting on the bed with the covers turned down, waiting for Alphonse to finish undressing. Although his brother turned to look curiously at him, there of course came no answer. "You're going to be yourself again someday ... right?"

With his pants only half-off, Alphonse crawled over the bed and into Edward's embrace. Edward held him close, kissed the top of his head and let his brother try to burrow into his good shoulder. "It's okay," he said softly, unsure whether or not his brother really understood. "I still love you. Even if you're like this forever, I love you. Okay? I do. I do." He stroked his brother's hair awkwardly, partly because he had to do it with the automail and above all he didn't want to get careless and hurt him, and also because the feel of Alphonse's body next to his was affecting him. He did _not_ want to put his own desires over his brother's again.

Alphonse tried to curl up closer, but he was just too tall and lanky and one leg was draped out across the mattress, trapped by the pants. "I wish you were the way you used to be," Edward whispered. "But if you can't be, that's all right. As long as you're happy. Can you be happy?"

The fingers of one of his brother's hands found the end of his braid; the other hand tugged at the steel over his shoulder. Edward grabbed the leg of Alphonse's pants and started to pull them off, but the angle made it awkward and slow. "Are you happy?" he asked again. Alphonse could smile, could laugh, and could certainly _look_ happy, but did that mean he _was?_ It was tempting to accept the smiles and laughter at face value, but Edward was reluctant to give in to that. How could anybody as bright and clever as Alphonse be happy in a state like this?

When the garment was off his brother, Edward dropped it by the side of the bed and got Alphonse to slide over a bit and get under the covers. The room held a wet chill despite the warmth of the chimney that took up half of the wall beside the bed, and Edward let his brother sleep next to the wall so he could get as much of the heat from it as possible.

He reached over to turn out the lamp, and paused when he felt a touch on his back. Then he felt Alphonse move away from the wall and spoon up behind him, nuzzling the scars on his back.

In Edward's already half-aroused state, that was all it took to send a thrill of lust through him. He cursed himself, his body, and all the circumstances that had led to his brother learning to look to him for sexual release. Instead of turning out the light, he rolled over and brushed Alphonse's hair back from his face, and was rewarded with a soft little smile. Edward kissed the smile, and his brother's arms went around his neck.

There was nothing more natural in the world than to warm the space beneath the blanket with slow kisses and gentle fingers on skin. Edward could drown in the heat and scent and taste of his brother, so familiar, so ... everything. Everything he'd ever wanted or needed, in all the years since that first crucial error, was between his hands and sighing against his cheek.

"I love you," he whispered against Alphonse's lips. "Forever."

Edward pushed his brother onto his back and straddled him on hands and knees, and dropped his open mouth to the throat that was offered. Hands were on his back, fingers on the bridge of scar that linked skin to steel over his shoulderblade; Edward shivered and groaned, and could feel the answering groan under his tongue. He knew what he was doing, and a twist of guilt settled into his belly as he dragged his pelvis up Alphonse's thigh to let his brother feel his erection. He knew what he was doing when he lowered his body to rest some of his weight on the body below him, but he did it anyway and told himself that Alphonse deserved pleasure. There was nothing wrong whatsoever with Alphonse's hormones or responses or desires ... except, of course, that it was all directed toward Edward. But that wasn't his fault.

There was nothing wrong at all with the way Alphonse's body reacted; no male in the history of the world had ever needed to be taught to thrust against a source of pleasure. Edward leaned a bit to the right to keep the deadweight of his automail on the bed and off his brother, and laid another open-mouthed kiss on the junction of Alphonse's neck and shoulder while Alphonse groaned and thrust hard into the soft hollow of his hip. Each motion sent a stab of pleasure through Edward as well, since his own cock was caught between them too, and he found himself breathing soft, gasping encouragement into Alphonse's ear.

There was only just so much of that that Edward could take before it drove him crazy, though. In the end, with the fabric that separated him from his brother damp and sticky, he pushed himself onto his right side next to Alphonse and tugged his brother's underwear down to his thighs. Alphonse attempted to roll onto his side and kiss Edward, but missed, and a moment later was too busy arching his hips into Edward's hand.

Edward kissed his brother's head when Alphonse was finished, and licked his hand clean as Alphonse snuggled against his chest. And it was then that he had a sudden, horrible realization.

Russell was downstairs.

No matter how disgustingly turned on he was, there was no possible way that Edward was going to be able to go downstairs tonight and jack off in the bathroom.

"Shit," he whispered, and wished that Alphonse would just go straight to sleep and let him try to squash his erection in peace. It was a futile wish; his brother never did that. Once his breathing had calmed somewhat, Alphonse began to nip hesitantly Edward's chest, eventually finding one nipple to suck on like an infant.

Edward whimpered. In time, Alphonse would get drowsy and nod off, but he wouldn't be able to take care of himself at that point, either. And the longer he remained the target of his brother's affectionate cuddling, the more intolerable it was.

"Al," he said, but couldn't seem to get out any more than that. His skin was sweaty and he felt overheated, and Alphonse's mouth and tongue were still on him and ...

"Hell," he whispered, and gave in. He had to get up a bit, spread his knees to brace himself, and in his shame he kept his eyes closed, as if that somehow made it acceptable. When he touched himself, he had to bite his lip to keep from making a sound because Alphonse was _still_ licking his nipple and now rested both hands on Edward's thighs. It only took a few strokes to make the pooling ache in his groin overload.

Collapsing forward, he found himself kissing his brother's hair, and felt like crying ... but he often felt like crying right after he came nowadays. "I'm sorry," he whispered, and choked on a sob.

Careful hands touched his wrist, and then picked up his hand; Edward opened his eyes just as moist lips closed over his finger. Blinking to clear his vision, Edward watched in astonishment as Alphonse licked milky semen off his fingers.


	4. Chapter 4

Edward woke the next morning, muzzy at hearing the clink of metal against metal. There wasn't much that was peculiar in this, as he heard this sound pretty much every time he moved, but what woke him this time was a minor fact pointed out by his sleepy brain, that he _hadn't_ moved. He cracked his eyes open.

At some point in his sleep, he'd thrown out his automail arm and it lay limp and lifeless across the mattress. His brother, tented under the blanket, was scrutinizing the flex of his thumb, bending it so carefully that the motion didn't jar his arm at all.

It was unusual for Alphonse to wake before Edward; for Alphonse to wake first and not immediately rouse his elder brother with his restless fidgeting had never happened before. Still confused with sleep, Edward watched as Alphonse bent his thumb so far back that he would have broken it if he'd picked the other one. He wondered blearily if that was okay on the automail, or if he should rescue it. Despite everything, it had been good to him.

"Al," he murmured, and Alphonse glanced at him, smiled a little, and left off the automail abuse in favor of sliding over to kiss him. Edward encircled his brother's waist without thought, and _mmmphed_ as he was clumsily kissed and pushed onto his back. He suspected that he tasted pretty nasty, but Alphonse didn't seem to mind if that was the case, and as always Alphonse tasted merely ... odd. In his half-awake state, the weight of his brother's body was comfortable and solid, pressing him reassuringly down into the mattress.

Although the bedroom door had no lock - none of the doors had locks - Edward seriously doubted that Russell would come wandering upstairs. There was therefore no reason to exert the effort to stop Alphonse from engaging in an extended ten minutes or so of deep kisses and rubbing against him. Once Edward had cleared a little more of the sleep out of his brain, it occurred to him to wonder why Alphonse seemed so randy; he'd just gotten his brother off the night before. Surely he couldn't want it again already ...

But when Alphonse snuggled close to roll his hips against Edward's thigh, the hard press of his erection was unmistakable.

_Damn._ He was half-hard already himself, and feeling that just encouraged his body to react further. His mouth was full of Alphonse, and the pocket of air beneath the blanket had grown hot, and scented with sweat and the musk of last night's stale sex, none of which was telling him to mind his own business. He hooked his good leg over his brother's thigh, arched his back to grind his erection into the softness of his brother's belly.

Edward broke the kiss, raising his chin in invitation, and gasped softly when Alphonse's wet mouth moved to his throat. Alphonse kissed Edward everywhere in easy reach, it seemed ... across his neck and chest, over his shoulders and the edge of his automail, his ears and cheeks and occasionally his mouth. The kisses were directionless, going nowhere and intending nothing but to satisfy whatever desire gripped him at the moment.

For all of that, Edward found them priceless, and each one branded itself into his skin.

"Al," he moaned, and in his mind the answer came, _Nii-san._

He could tell himself that he didn't enjoy it when Alphonse's mouth fastened to his, and the wet slide of his brother's tongue was against his own. He could claim that the dig of Alphonse's hard penis into his thigh didn't affect him, and that the moist heat of the skin under his hand was nothing. That he submitted to these things in an effort to sort of repay Alphonse somewhat for what Edward had done to him. And, maybe all of it had been true a couple of months ago.

Edward prodded Alphonse to lift himself a bit, and snaked his hand between them; the whimper when he caught his brother's cock was breathed into his mouth and made him moan again. Alphonse began to thrust into his hand immediately, soft cries muffled and his body hot against Edward's, their skin melding together wherever they touched. For a few moments Alphonse forgot to kiss, letting his mouth slide away from his elder brother's in a wet trail over Edward's cheek, and then he was panting hard against Edward's shoulder and groaning in pleasure and coming in a warm rush over Edward's hand.

Most of it got on Edward's leg, and he could feel it drip down the inside of his thigh as his brother kissed the side of his neck and relaxed against him. This dripping was a pretty nasty sensation, ticklish and sticky. It would have made Edward want to come, if he hadn't wanted that already. "What was that all about?" he murmured softly, before worming his hand out from under the blankets to lick it clean. Alphonse offered no reply.

All things being equal, he would have waited until Alphonse was lethargic and pliable, and then sneaked briefly off to masturbate. He remembered perfectly well why he hadn't done that the night before, however (and why _had_ he decided to jack off in front of his brother? Didn't he have more self control than that?), and that situation hadn't appreciably changed overnight. Maybe he could quietly slip past Russell on the pretext of using the bathroom for its original intended purpose, but somehow that struck him as just ... _wrong_ somehow. Touching himself while trusting Russell to look after his brother was ... no.

Obviously the first order of the day would be to get rid of Russell.

Resolve alone allowed Edward to still his breathing and give his brother a nudge. "Hey," he murmured. "Get up."

Alphonse gave a sleepy little grunt and resumed blindly kissing Edward's neck.

"No," he said, and if the word came out accompanied by something like a moan, he could excuse himself for it. "Come on, Al, we need to get up." If Alphonse heard, or understood, there was no sign.

Picking his brother off of him bodily was an option; Edward preferred to squirm out from underneath. This had its own drawbacks, primarily that it was awfully easy to accidentally brush his cock against some part of his brother's body, and secondarily because Alphonse didn't want to release him. Without a lot of clothes for him to grab, however, Alphonse was not coordinated enough to do more than pinch Edward painfully once in the arm.

Edward didn't mind the pinch. He needed to get rid of his erection, and the pain helped.

Eventually, he got himself free and sat at the edge of the bed wiping come off his thigh, and then pulling on his pants. Alphonse lay on his belly, looking unhappy and touching Edward aimlessly on the back. It was a little disgusting to have to put on pants and a shirt before he'd gotten a bath, and this only made him more annoyed at the fact that there was a stranger present in his house.

"What is it?" he asked, ruffling his brother's hair. Alphonse looked thoughtful for a moment, but made no effort to speak, and eventually looked down and touched the back of Edward's leg. Edward smiled at him and kissed the top of his head. "Come on, let's get you dressed."

Edward's annoyance at Russell abruptly spiked as soon as he opened the bedroom door, and he was greeted with what was unmistakably the scent of breakfast.

"He's just making himself at home, isn't he?" said Edward, as he took a step down the staircase and stood there to let his brother brace against him in order to navigate the top step. It was outrageous that Russell should be messing around in Edward's kitchen ... but the salt smell of frying bacon was certainly an interesting one now that the surprise was over, and it made it hard to hold onto that outrage.

Long before they reached the bottom, Alphonse startled, and would have fallen right down the stairs if Edward hadn't caught him. He sort of knew what the cause was before looking, and so there was no real surprise to see Russell standing at the foot of the stairs.

"I made breakfast," said Russell, unnecessarily. Alphonse stared at the other alchemist in shock and seemed to lose concentration for his own balance until Edward snapped his fingers in front of his brother's face.

"Oh, go away," said Edward crossly. "At least until we're downstairs. You're distracting Al."

"Sorry," said Russell. Edward was too busy keeping Alphonse from falling to see Russell leave, but Alphonse calmed quickly and got the rest of the way downstairs without incident.

"Damn him," muttered Edward. His aggravation and the concentration necessary to get Alphonse downstairs had done it for his erection, at least.

As soon as Alphonse caught sight of Russell again in the kitchen, it was as if he'd walked into a basilisk's gaze instead. Edward almost ran into him.

"You remember Russell, don't you Al?" said Edward, pushing his brother bodily toward a chair at the table and forcing him to sit down; Alphonse wasn't resisting so much as just neglecting to cooperate. "You spent more time with his brother than with him, maybe you'd remember better if they'd both come." When he had Alphonse sitting, Edward ran an affectionate hand through sandy hair, and flicked a glance up to check what Russell was doing.

The other alchemist had his back turned, botching around with the stove, and if it was curiosity that was lending the tension to the lines of his back, he still had it mastered.

"See that?" he said, leaning down to speak to Alphonse. "He's going to try to bribe me with breakfast."

"I'm not trying to bribe you," said Russell.

"No? What's with the invasion of my cellar then?"

"Just trying to make up for showing up in the middle of the night and asking favors of you before taking up space on your couch. Equivalent trade."

Edward slid into a chair beside his brother, and said, "Or it would be if that weren't my food to begin with."

"I can't do much about that. I'm not good at transmuting food yet."

Sincerely glad that he hadn't tried, Edward changed the subject. "So, do you always wander around the hinterlands with just the clothes on your back?"

"No." Russell slid something that looked suspiciously like eggs out of a skillet and onto a plate, and offered it to Edward. "I checked into a room at the inn in town before I heard that you were here and came to look for you. I'd expected to be back last night. All my things are there."

Not sure what to anticipate, Edward examined the plate closely, but it was just eggs and bacon, and bread that had been toasted in the skillet and gotten cool long before the rest of the food joined it. He got up to retrieve some silverware and began to cut everything into small pieces for Alphonse. "I'm surprised these eggs were still good." Edward made it a rule to avoid trying to eat any food that wasn't canned or salted or smoked, and which had remained in the cellar from one of Winry's visits to the next.

"They didn't smell bad when I cracked them," said Russell, and Edward decided to try a piece himself before feeding them to Alphonse.

"Nope, still good." He moved the plate over in front of his brother, and had to wave a hand in front of Alphonse's face to get his attention; the fascination of Russell hadn't worn off yet.

At this, Russell did say something. "It's like he doesn't remember that I was here yesterday," he said quietly.

"He doesn't." Edward didn't think that Alphonse had even noticed Russell the night before. "The only person he never forgets about is me."

_Why not? What's the matter with him? Are you sure this is your brother? He used to be so intelligent, so well-spoken. An alchemist. Is this maybe actually someone else?_ The questions lingered, unspoken, and reflected against the quiet, uneasy horror in Russell's eyes. Edward waited for them, and swore that he would break the boy's jaw the instant they were given form. After a moment, however, Russell looked away and cracked another pair of eggs into the hot skillet.

Edward's hackles subsided, and he watched Alphonse eat, slowly and laboriously with his fingers and with much trial-and-error on where those fingers were supposed to go. The egg yolks weren't completely cooked, and there was a lot of mess with them, but Edward made no move to assist, beyond drawing his brother's attention back to the food whenever it wandered.

Although Edward certainly had no intention of telling Russell anything, it was somehow vaguely annoying that the questions weren't being asked.

_I transmuted my brother, you know. Twice. I should have stopped at just once, but I didn't. I probably should have stopped at never, actually, but he's my only brother. I was too weak to just let him die. What's worse? A life with no body, or a life with no mind, or no life at all?_

Edward bit his lip.

This was the first time since they'd come here that they'd had visitors, he realized suddenly. Winry came and went, of course, but she was more like family, and she knew everything already. She'd held Edward together in that first month or two, in fact, been underfoot way too often and threatened him when he needed it. It was hard to face her sometimes, but he would never have thought of turning her away.

But this was the first time a stranger had wandered into the small, circumscribed universe that Edward had created for himself, out here on the fringes of a town that lay on the fringes of life. He'd felt safe out here, and perhaps he had been ... nobody knew that they were here except for Mustang and a couple of people in Risenbourg. And now Russell Tringham.

_I touched him this morning. While you were down here toasting bread maybe, I had my hand between his legs. He had his eyes closed, and he moaned into my ear, and came against me. He can be beautiful when comes, but I try not to look. I don't want to want him._

Edward picked up a bit of toast and wiped it around in the bright yellow puddle of yolk before nibbling it; his fingers still gave off the pollen-scent of semen. The urge to tell Russell everything was stronger than it had any right to be. Russell was nobody, someone whose life he'd briefly touched for better or worse, and who had formed a much stronger opinion of him than he had in reverse. They weren't friends, they barely knew each other.

Russell had no right to know.

_I do want him. He's my brother. That would be unnatural and wrong under any circumstances but ..._

"Here you go," said Russell, and laid another plate in front of Edward.

It took a moment to rouse himself out of his thoughts, and drive out the sudden spike of desire that was threatening his calm.

"I'm not going to teach you." Edward picked up his knife and fork and moved the eggs and bacon on top of the cold toast, and then crushed it all together to make a kind of sloppy sandwich out if it.

"You said that yesterday." Russell shrugged a little. "I can still hope."

Aggravation flared, for no good reason except that it could; perhaps it was born of something else. "Yeah? Well, it'll be easier on you once you give up hope. You're leaving today, like it or not, and if I ever see you again I think I might break your leg or something."

"You wouldn't do that."

Edward gave him a sharp look and swallowed the bite he'd taken. "You think I wouldn't?" Immediately, Alphonse leaned his head onto Edward's shoulder, which earned him a bemused look and a reflexive stroke through the hair from Edward's automail. "It's okay, Al, I won't break him in front of you." One of Alphonse's hands slid over onto Edward's thigh; Edward discretely pushed it off.

Having turned off the gas and moved the skillet to a cool burner, Russell took a seat at the table as well. "I promise I wouldn't be any trouble. I could just hang around, and you could teach me whenever you felt like it."

"And what if I never feel like it? What if it annoys me that you're here, taking up space and breathing my air? You don't really have any idea what you're asking of me."

"I suppose not." Looking toward the window, Russell said, "I'm always going to be a second-rate alchemist if I don't find someone who can teach me. I just _know_ I could be better, but ..." He trailed off with what sounded to Edward like an overly melodramatic sigh.

Edward took one last bite and dusted off his hands, then stood up and picked up the towel that hung from a peg on the wall. Damping it down, he began to clean smeared egg yolk off Alphonse's face and hands. "There are worse things to be than second-rate," he said, sitting down again beside his brother, the better to reach Alphonse's face. The hand that had been on his thigh returned, and Alphonse leaned against him again. Edward pushed the hand off his leg again, but a moment later it was back.

"You tried to transmute a person, didn't you?" asked Russell.

The motion of the towel stilled, and Edward forgot about his brother's hand for a moment.

"I thought about it last night," Russell continued in a low tone. "That's the only thing I could think of that would be so awful that you wouldn't want to admit to it."

Forcing himself to move, Edward wiped the last bit of yellow off Alphonse's chin. "That's nonsense," he said.

"All right. That's not what I would want to learn, though. I swear."

Edward threw the towel down on the table in annoyance. "You just don't listen very well, do you? I keep saying no, and you keep hearing something else."

"I really need a teacher."

"Okay, here's your first lesson, in how to take 'no' for an answer." Alphonse rubbed his cheek against Edward's shoulder, much in the way that Den would sometimes rub anxiously against Winry when she was upset. The comparison did not improve Edward's temper, although he did spare a moment to pat Alphonse's hand on his leg; he felt his brother's fingertips twitch, and squeeze a little into the inside of his thigh.

"You're a State Alchemist," said Russell, and for the first time Edward detected a hint of desperation, a slight whine to his voice.

"Technically. There are a lot of State Alchemists, pick a different one."

Russell was quiet, looking thoughtfully at his fingernails before saying, "State Alchemists don't follow the same rules as the rest of us."

It took a moment for Edward to understand what Russell was saying, because the way Alphonse was touching him was reviving the erection that he'd thought he'd successfully suppressed, and that was really distracting. When he did understand, he glared furiously. "Don't make excuses for me! I don't need excuses." _He thinks I did the transmutation just recently. He doesn't know the original one was years ago._ This somehow made it even less tolerable.

When Russell blinked in surprise, Edward realized that he'd given himself away. Dammit. Alphonse's fingers on his thigh, and the effort of not letting it show on his face how this was affecting him, were making it harder to concentrate than he'd realized. "Don't think you can blackmail me," he added furiously. "If you try it, there's no telling what I might do, whether beat the crap out of you for threatening me or laugh in your face because the military already knows."

"I wouldn't do that," said Russell, but Edward kept his doubts. "I don't know what I'm trying to say." He wiped a hand across his face, and said, "I've looked. I don't know how to convince you of that, I've _looked_ for another teacher and I can't find _anybody_ who is both willing to take me, and knows what they're doing."

"You haven't now either."

_"Please."_

The tone of it, the whole I-need-help-and-I-know-you-help-people tone of Russell's voice, hit Edward all wrong. Perhaps it was at least partially due to the fact that he really, really wanted to come, and that wasn't going to happen for as long as the other alchemist was still present. With Alphonse touching him, it was all he could do to keep from turning to his brother in search of a suffocating kiss; instead, he snapped at Russell.

"I have my hands full here," he said. "I just don't have time to deal with you. And I'm tired of arguing, I'm not going to change my mind anytime today or ever." He wanted Russell out of the house. Immediately. "Thanks for making breakfast. And thanks for visiting. You know where the door is."

Edward winced a little at how cold his tone was, but he wasn't going to take it back.

For an instant, Russell looked like he might want to argue further; then he nodded a little and moved toward the kitchen door. "I'm sorry," was all he said.

Edward listened to Russell move around the house; then he said, "Come on, Al," and stood up. He tugged on his brother's elbow in encouragement, because Alphonse seemed a little lost; perhaps Russell's exit had confused him.

By the time Edward had gently talked his brother into standing up, the front door had opened and closed. As they moved haltingly toward the library, Edward saw that Russell's raincoat was gone. He checked out the window anyway, once he had Alphonse settled on the library couch, and saw a tall, slender figure retreating down the lane toward town.

"Good riddance," he said. The weight of his desire to confess everything had lifted with Russell's departure, and he hoped he never felt anything like it again. "It's just not right," he said, sitting down beside Alphonse, who was offering him a loose smile. "Our secrets are ours, right? Just for us. Nobody else is supposed to know. Nobody else _needs_ to know."

Alphonse made an vague gesture with one hand, the purpose of which was unclear, and then repeated it once before laying his hand on Edward's knee.

There was really no reason for that to set off Edward's erection again, but it did. He closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them again his brother was looking at him with bland curiosity.

_Don't touch him._ Alphonse had just come an hour earlier, and the night before besides. He wasn't giving Edward one of those expectant looks, or touching him out of anything but a childish, innocent need for physical contact. If Edward were to walk away, no doubt Alphonse would occupy himself with picking at the upholstery or something like that, or perhaps devise one of his repetitive games.

Alphonse wasn't the one whose skin was burning with desire.

"Talk to me," murmured Edward, and he couldn't help but ease a little closer. "Please, Al. Tell me you hate me, tell me you never want to look at me again." His hand slipped up his brother's arm, and Alphonse tilted his head to one side in a parody of listening ... but he wasn't listening at all, of course, only trying to reach Edward's hand with his cheek. Edward obliged by cupping Alphonse's cheek, rubbing his thumb over his brother's mouth and letting his fingers rest on the line of his brother's jaw. Alphonse smiled and affectionately lipped his thumb; it cracked Edward's resolve, never very adamant where his brother was concerned.

"You're more responsible than I am," he whispered, leaning closer. "I need you to be responsible for me. I want to kiss you. I want to ..." What? Edward wasn't sure, and swallowed hard. "Talk to me. Tell me to stop."

But Alphonse had not told Edward to stop for years, and in recent months of course he wasn't telling Edward much of anything at all. There was no one left to remind Edward of what a bad idea it was to slide a hand under his brother's knee, pull his leg up onto the back of the couch to turn Alphonse sideways, and crawl forward between his brother's thighs. No one whispered _Stop_ when he touched his lips to Alphonse's, and opened his mouth when Alphonse did.

He _should_ stop, of course. He should take himself to another room, jack off, relieve the warm ache in his cock that was only being exacerbated by the way Alphonse squirmed in his arms ... then he could come back, and deal with his brother like a human being again. Knowing what he should do didn't help, and only made him tremble with guilt as hesitant, aimless touches landed on his back.

He should push himself up ... just like _that_ ... and move off his brother and onto the floor. That would be the first step, and he could imagine himself doing it so vividly that he could almost believe that he had. And perhaps he did manage to pull back a little bit, before a moist hand curled around his braid and held him; another fisted in the back of his shirt.

"Al," he breathed. The word was almost a groan, and he ground his erection into his brother's groin. Everything he shouldn't be doing. As if in response, the fist in his shirt tugged a little, dragging the lightweight fabric across the skin of his back. A knuckle brushed the edge of his automail, where the scar was painfully sensitive, and he hissed with pleasure.

"Stop," he said, and finally someone had. "Let me go, Al." He hiked himself up, panting hard, wanting so much to just sink back down into his brother's warmth and give in to the lure of the thighs around his waist and that searching mouth. It would be difficult to escape the grip his brother had on him, but maybe he could slither out of his shirt ...

A sudden hard yank on his braid made him forget that plan. "Al," he said, trying to sound exasperated, but he suspected that he mainly succeeded in sounding desperate. How he wanted ... A second yank brought tears to his eyes, and his head down to his brother's throat; Alphonse was turning his chin to one side and making an annoyed sound. Trapped, Edward obediently began to mouth the side of Alphonse's neck, disturbed but somehow unsurprised when his brother's legs tangled through his. With their groins pressed together, he could feel his brother's penis against his, and it was only half-hard, nowhere near full arousal.

It was disturbing because it stripped him of his excuses, showed the lie that his motivation for molesting his brother was something other than his own lust. Alphonse was compliant, and probably he even liked being touched this way, but he wasn't the one in need.

Edward could have cried, but with his one effort at stopping himself thwarted, there was no way he could have tried again.

Thrusting helplessly against Alphonse's body, Edward felt his clothes sticking to his skin, and he was so hot ... he couldn't breathe properly anymore. Alphonse groped awkwardly across his back, plucking at his shirt, and eventually Edward made the effort to shed the garment. The grip on his braid meant that it couldn't go anywhere, really, but he wanted air against his skin because he was so _hot,_ and he wanted his brother's hands on him. He had to brace himself on his knees to unbutton Alphonse's shirt.

"Mmmm," said Alphonse, as Edward tongued across his collarbone.

_Not here,_ screamed Edward's better sense as he fumbled with his own belt with his left hand, but Alphonse still had him leashed by his braid ... and in any case he wasn't sure he was capable of the self-control necessary to move elsewhere. He needed to come, and he wanted it with his brother touching him. It was horrible to want it, and it seemed he could have torn the guilt physically out of his gut, but he did want it.

He wanted his brother's lips on his chest, sucking his nipple as he masturbated, as they'd done the night before, but the way they lay together made that problematic to arrange. So Edward settled for locking their mouths together, which made him breathe hard through his nose and cut off a lot of his air. He was light-headed by the time his hand found his cock, and his back arched in desire ... everything was okay. He could feel and smell and taste Alphonse, and hear and taste his brother's moans, everything was there, and everything was Alphonse.

Suddenly but not unexpectedly, Edward's mind blanked out, which was a damned relief, and a precarious moment of tension later he was climaxing across his brother's exposed belly. He wanted to collapse afterward, sprawl across the body between his hands and catch his breath, but there seemed to be a good reason not to; he remembered what the reason was when Alphonse dragged his free hand in a broad swath through the mess and lifted it to his lips.

"I'm sorry," was the first thing he could say. There came no reply - no forgiveness, no condemnation - only the wet sound of slow licking. "I'm sorry."

"Mmmm," said Alphonse, and finally the deathgrip on Edward's braid was released, in favor of using both hands to mop the semen off his belly. Edward sat up, wiping a hand over his hair and surveying his brother with dismay. Smoky grey eyes smiled up at him, the very picture of a victim of defilement.

Edward wanted to stop his brother from doing that ... watching that innocence lick up his come was disquieting ... but there seemed little point to it now, with most of it gone already. "We should go clean up," he said, once he felt less breathless. Alphonse grinned happily, and threw his arms around Edward's neck.

"Come on," said Edward again, but he did smile a little, secretly, into his brother's arm. It was hard to hold onto his guilt when Alphonse seemed so happy.

He figured it would be easiest to masturbate his brother in the bath, assuming that Alphonse held onto his arousal.

* * *

The mailman came while they bathed; Edward heard the man clunking around at the door, and then the quiet scuff of a letter coming through the mail slot and landing on the floor. He normally hid from the mailman anyway, so he didn't pause in scrubbing Alphonse's hair, except to make sure nobody was actually coming in the house.

Once they were both clean and dressed, though, and things were back to normal, he picked up the letter as he took his brother outside.

The sun was out, presiding over a wet landscape and air that was just this side of bitterly cold. Edward put both of them into their coats - putting on his own coat was okay, he'd discovered, as long as he dressed Alphonse in his own first, and made it very clear that he was taking his brother with him when he left the house. It was early afternoon already, the shadows beginning to sundial across the ground toward evening. Alphonse was too restless to sit in his chair on the porch, and crouched on the bottom step to favor the puddle of water with his full attention.

Edward sat in the chair instead, and rocked a little as he examined the envelope - it was Mustang's handwriting - and then slit it open.

He saw the words "regret" and "report back" in a flash, and the bottom fell out of his stomach. It didn't start to come back even after he'd read the letter twice through.

It was a strangely formal letter, very unlike Mustang's earlier inquiries.

_Major Edward Elric, Fullmetal Alchemist_   
_Risenbourg_   
_Amestris_   
_Fullmetal,_

_As you know, your accumulated leave has been exhausted. Although I permitted you additional time to care for Alphonse beyond the exhaustion of your leave by commanding officer's prerogative in light of the extenuating circumstances involved, it's my regret that I must inform you that you have also reached the limit of that extension as well._

_You are to report back for duty in Central City Headquarters at your earliest opportunity, and under no circumstances any later than the 27th of this month._

_I did what I could, and I hope this was enough time._

_Colonel Roy Mustang, Flame Alchemist_   
_Central City Headquarters_   
_Amestris_


	5. Chapter 5

With the fire extinguished, the house quickly began to pick up the day's chill. Edward was only halfway through the house, collecting their gear so he could decide what to bring and what to leave, when he caught himself chafing his bare arm. This was arguably counterproductive, as his automail did little to warm him, but it did draw his attention to the nip in the air.

He brought out both their coats and tucked Alphonse into his first; this was a bit of a task, as his brother's interest was currently in arranging a group of mason jars into a perfect line. Anything less than a perfectly straight line just would not do, and this required a lot of nudging and examining the items from various directions. Alphonse had no patience for Edward's efforts to dress him while he was busy at this, and kept wriggling away.

Once Alphonse's coat was on, Edward sat down in a kitchen chair with his own coat in his lap, and watched his brother's activity for awhile. He had a lot to sort through still, and Winry would be by soon to pick them up, but the prospect of transporting Alphonse suddenly felt ... impossible.

"It's done you good, hasn't it?" he asked quietly. "It wasn't a mistake to come here, was it, Al?" He received no answer, not even a glance and a grin for his trouble, but Edward well remembered the nearly catatonic boy he'd brought into this house, all those months before. Alphonse was still a far cry from anything like normal, but he didn't spend so much time staring off into the distance, and he didn't trip quite so often. Language, however, was the litmus test that Alphonse had continued to fail; Edward had yet to hear his brother's voice at all in a context that didn't involve sex or crying, and he was never sure how much Alphonse understood of what was said to him.

The decision-making process that had brought them back to Risenbourg had taken Edward all of thirty seconds, and had consisted more of a desire to flee for home than anything rational. He'd been able to rationalize it after the fact, of course, and perhaps raw instinct had guided him truly. He wasn't sure at all that Alphonse would have gotten this far in the bustle and busyness of Central. The quiet and isolation had given Alphonse a chance to remember who he was without the distraction of thousands of other souls. He just ... hadn't come quite as far as Edward had hoped.

Edward wished they could stay here forever.

Leaving Alphonse in the kitchen, Edward stood up, put on his coat, and went into the library.

Most of the things Winry had bought with his cash would stay. The blankets, the candles and lamps, the delicate little music box that for some reason Winry had thought Alphonse would like (Alphonse had taken no interest in it whatsoever), all of it was put onto shelves or tucked into closets for the benefit of the house's next occupant. Winry had said she would come back and get all of the food that they hadn't eaten, which was fine with Edward. He had decided to travel light, the same way they had traveled together for years, carrying only as much as he could fit into a single suitcase.

Before, however, Alphonse hadn't needed much in the way of clothing or personal effects, and neither had Edward. When his clothes tore or became dirty, alchemy was always the easy fix unless he left something behind, or too many pieces of it. There had been plenty of room in the suitcase for a couple of journals full of notes, a few items that he found problematic to transmute, and whatever odd texts he picked up along the trip.

He stood in front of the suitcase now and weighed the journals in his hand. He really had no further use for them, and considered kindling up the fire long enough to burn them, but in the end he did no such thing and forced them into the suitcase. He told himself that the librarians at the new First Sector Branch would kill him if he failed to turn them in; force of habit had nothing to do with it, he told himself, nor did any kind of sentimental attachment to the knowledge that he had painstakingly assembled and indexed.

At the bookshelf, he ran his fingertips over the spines of the alchemy books he'd brought with him - Harrington's _Basics of Elemental Fusion,_ Bannister's _The Structure of Organic Matter,_ a book called _On Interactions_ which listed no author at all, and a copy of James Pfeffer's _The Ethics of Human Transmutation._ The first two were reasonably easy to acquire, and Edward had picked them up in Dubois more for something to do than anything else. The third one had promised to be a treatise on what exactly constituted life itself, but it had turned out to be mostly nonsense, and the lack of attribution was probably because nobody in their right mind would want to take credit for such a load of dreck. The last book had been so controversial at the time that most of the original printing had been destroyed, making it one of the rarest and most difficult-to-acquire books on any alchemy topic. Edward had gotten lucky with this copy, finding it in the possession of an antiques dealer who had no idea what he had, and who hadn't recognized Edward until after the sale had gone through.

The four books, a little dusty now, leaned on a slant on the bookshelf where he'd put them. Edward picked up the book of faerie tales from the next shelf down, and tossed it next to the suitcase.

* * *

They went to the train station in Winry's wagon, Alphonse staring wildly at the scenery around him and clutching Edward to him in a tight embrace. Winry brought apple tarts with her, baked only that morning and then wrapped up warmly in a floury red-checkered cloth inside a basket. Edward was grateful; the tarts would give him something with which to distract Alphonse on the train.

"I hate them all," said Winry with a low heat. She didn't really mean that, though, and it wasn't too hard for Edward to hear what she was really saying: _I hate Roy Mustang._

"It's not his fault." Edward did not bother to look at Winry, choosing instead to watch the scenery pass and discretely stroke his brother's thigh. The gentle petting seemed to soothe Alphonse, a little.

She did not attempt to dispute his interpretation. "Why not? He's the one calling you back. He says he tried, but what did he do? Probably nothing."

Edward sighed, and could have argued that Mustang was just the messenger on this one, but there would be no convincing Winry of anything positive where Mustang was concerned. So he just smiled and said, "It'll be all right."

"How do you figure that?" She gave Edward a sidelong glare, and continued in a lower tone, "I'm not going to ask if you're seriously expecting to get Al back to Central in this state, but come on. Look at him, Ed."

"I'll get him back. He's better, really." Edward rested his cheek on Alphonse's shoulder for a moment, but straightened up again almost immediately. He had to remember that becoming physically affectionate with his brother would be noticed in Central. It wouldn't look right, so it was a habit he needed to break now.

He was sure that Winry had something to say about how much better Alphonse was, from the way she gave him a hard stare. But, if she did, she kept it to herself. Nothing more was said for a long time, the silence broken only by the rough grind of the axles and the horse's steady _clip-clop_ against the road. Cornstalks, broken by the harvest and blackening with mildew, passed by one side of the road; along the other side, the sheered-off stubs of tobacco shared a field with gray weeds. Off in the distance, someone began to build or repair something, and the sharp hammer-blows came to him on the wind, followed three-quarters of a second later by the ghosts of their echoes.

As children, Edward and Alphonse had played in these very fields, stalking each other between rows of corn, teasing the cattle, fighting on hilltops and swimming in the river. Had the timing been a little different, Edward would have liked to take his brother around the outskirts of Risenbourg, showing him the places they had loved as children and hoping that would help him find his way back. In just a little longer, Alphonse would have been coordinated enough to tolerate a trip like that, Edward thought. Alphonse would have liked playing in the snow.

Edward hunched his shoulders and transferred his stare to his hands. He didn't want to go back. He didn't want to leave the peace and ... familiarity, of Risenbourg, and return to Central. Central was going to crush him, and he didn't want to think about what it would do to Alphonse.

"If you keep thinking about it, you're just going to make yourself sick," said Winry, her tone carefully neutral.

"Quit reading my mind," said Edward sullenly.

Winry made a face. "Who'd _want_ to read your mind? It's probably a mess in there. It's not too late to write that Colonel of yours and tell him where he can shove his silver watch."

"It's not that easy."

"Why not? You didn't even bother with your assessment this year."

"If I'd been discharged for not bothering with my assessment, I'm sure I would have heard about it. Just take my word for it, it's not that easy. Maybe if I sucked, it would be that easy. But I just turned a disembodied soul back into a living, breathing human being, so I don't think anybody is going to say I suck."

"How many people know about that, though?"

A flash of memory came then, overlaying the gray hills. An elegant gloved hand waving smoke aside. Ink-blue eyes flicking between Edward and the body he so fiercely clutched in the center of the array. That soft, modulated voice, saying, "I'll make the arrangements."

"Enough," said Edward.

Winry sighed and shifted a little in her seat. "You're impossible." She went quiet again then, and the punctuated silence returned.

The letters from Mustang had mostly been polite inquiries into how Alphonse was doing, inquiries that Edward had answered very, very carefully. Edward had had to somehow convey that he needed as much time alone with his brother as possible, without actually telling Mustang that Alphonse was still a long way from any state that could be considered independently functional. He had no idea how well his vague reassurances had been received, but he'd gotten the extensions he'd needed, and he didn't believe it was Mustang's fault that there hadn't been enough of them.

Edward hadn't even thought about his assessment until three months after it had been due. He wondered in a distant kind of way what sort of excuses Mustang had offered on his behalf, or if any had been required.

Quietly, Winry said, "You could leave Al here, you know. I'd take care of him."

"No," said Edward automatically.

"I could. He needs ..."

_"No,"_ said Edward again. And, when Winry would have continued, he said, "Stop it. Just stop it. He's _my_ responsibility."

"I could take care of him just as well as you can," she said, with a determined frown. "I may not be his sister, but I love him too. I love you _both,_ Ed, and you're not going to convince me that taking him all the way back to Central is somehow a brilliant move."

"I'm not being given a lot of choice anymore, and I'm not leaving Al behind."

With an annoyed sound, Winry said again, "I can take care of him just as well as you can. He'd be happy at my place, I'm sure he'd remember it once he was there. He could play with Den, and come up into town with me. It wasn't right for the two of you to be locked up alone in that old army house. He just needs to see his old friends and ..."

"Winry," said Edward, consciously unclenching his jaw and not sure when he'd clenched it. When she paused, he said again, "No. He's coming with me."

"You're being unreasonable!"

"Yeah, I know."

She set her jaw and glared at him furiously, but he glared back just as furiously and after a minute or so she glanced away. "I could do it."

"No. You can't." _Al would have a freakout if he saw me walk away from him onto that train and leave him behind. Even if he eventually calmed down, would it bother you to have to bathe him, dress him, make sure he's aimed when he takes a piss? What would you do the first time he gets a hard-on and wants you to take care of it for him?_ Edward said none of it, but he took comfort in the weight of the unspoken arguments. "You couldn't."

"I could!" At Winry's words, Alphonse made an unclassifiable, unhappy sound.

"Give it up. Just give it up before I get mad. I don't want to leave Risenbourg mad at you." Edward couldn't help rubbing his cheek against his brother's shoulder again, although whether he was offering comfort or looking for it was unclear to him.

"Fine."

They didn't speak again for the rest of the trip to the station.

* * *

There weren't many passengers at the train station, but it was still busy with cattle and other cargo. It was hard to get Alphonse to let go of Edward long enough to let him buy the tickets, but somehow between Edward and Winry together they managed. Edward returned with the tickets to find that Alphonse had latched onto Winry in his place, whimpering unhappily into her shoulder.

"Al," said Winry. "Your annoying brother is back, you can let go of me now. Al, come on." She turned sideways on the bench and started trying to pry his fingers loose from her jacket.

Edward tucked the tickets into a pocket inside his coat and said, "It's okay, Al. It's time to go, I'm not leaving you here. Come on, it's okay." He touched his brother's cheek to get his attention, and Alphonse blinked at him for less than a second before transferring his grip from Winry's jacket back to Edward's. The taller boy buried his face in Edward's shoulder, as if ashamed to face the world.

It was painful to see how nervous and highly-strung Alphonse was, and the grin that Edward offered Winry felt strained. "Sorry about that," he said, picking up his suitcase from the bench beside Winry and arranging it in his grip with the basket of tarts.

"It's okay," said Winry, in a subdued tone. "I still think you should leave him here."

"I can't." Looking away, Edward decided to leave it at that. "I just can't." He took a step toward the waiting train.

Before he could move farther than that, Winry surprised him by grabbing him in a tight hug; she hadn't hugged him in months, since he'd gotten over his post-transmutation breakdown, and he hadn't expected her to now. "I hate you sometimes," she said, but her voice was thickening with suppressed emotion. "I think you try to drive me crazy."

There was no good way to put down the suitcase and basket, so Edward hugged her awkwardly back with the suitcase in his hand and the basket hanging from his forearm. He didn't bother to reply.

She moved to hug Alphonse next, but Alphonse didn't much care for that, and gave a small, distressed squeak before she let him go.

"I'll be here," she said, backing off once her urge to hug was satisfied. She wiped her nose quickly with one hand, and sniffled some. "Offer is still open."

Edward nodded. Words failed him. "Thanks," was all he said.

* * *

The conductor gave Alphonse a bemused look as he checked their tickets, but politely said nothing about the teenaged boy wrapped around Edward's arm. Edward smiled back, and dared the man to say something with his grin, and was disappointed when nothing came. Their tickets were in order, so the conductor moved on.

Edward looked over at Alphonse, who was huddled into as small of a ball as he could make himself, and hiding his face in the sleeve of the red coat. "Hey," said Edward, hopefully just loudly enough to be heard by Alphonse and no one else. "It's okay, I'm here. I'm here."

The only reply was a soft whimper, and a slight motion as Alphonse rubbed his face against the fabric of Edward's coat. Edward continued, "I'm not leaving you behind. You don't have to be afraid. No matter where we are, at least we're together, right? We'll always be together." He smiled and ran his fingers through his brother's hair.

With a soft sniffle, Alphonse lifted his face from Edward's sleeve, and gave him a miserable look. Edward could almost hear the plaintive question: _Do you promise, Nii-san?_

"I promise."

He nudged Alphonse into sitting up a little straighter, and put an arm around his brother's shoulders. The train clacked over an irregularity of the track, and they both swayed with the motion. "Winry didn't mean anything by it. She just wants what she thinks is best for you, but she doesn't understand. Nobody understands, but don't worry. I won't let anyone separate us, ever."

_Promise me, Nii-san._

"I promise. I swear. We'll always be together."

Edward's heart lightened when Alphonse relaxed a little against him. He wasn't sure if his brother actually understood the words - he could have just been reacting to the reassuring tone of Edward's voice - but it was a good sign. He could always hope.

The lingering tension in Alphonse's body was disturbing, however. Edward didn't want his brother fretting the whole way to Central. Pulling the suitcase up onto the seat beside him, Edward opened it and took out the book of faerie tales. "Look what I brought. Want me to read you a story?"

Alphonse perked up slightly, grey eyes falling to the pages as Edward opened the book on his lap. Turning the pages with only one hand was awkward, but his other was occupied around Alphonse's shoulders. "I'll read you the one about the brownie and the miller's daughter. Then you can have one of Winry's tarts."

There was no response, positive or negative. After a moment, Edward began to read.

"A long, long time ago, back when fish lived on the land and rabbits lived in water, and before frogs taught birds how to sing, there lived a miller at the edge of a very small town. He was a simple man, and kind-hearted, but his wife had died many years earlier. So he lived alone with his daughter, who was very beautiful, and who took care of the house while her father worked in the mill. She had an easy time of it, though, because that was back in the days when brownies sometimes lived in the hearth, and to have a brownie in the house was to be very lucky indeed."

Alphonse relaxed further, uncurling his fists a little; this was a familiar story, and it was one that Alphonse had always seemed to like. Edward gave him a grin, and continued.

"Every evening, the miller's daughter would mix up a bowl of her best porridge, and lay it by the hearth with a lump of butter the size of a goose egg floating atop it ..."

* * *

The train line ended in New Dalwar, although Edward was assured, repeatedly and unnecessarily, that the line was going to be extended sometime in the near future. The near future didn't concern Edward, only the reality that he needed to change trains, and the train that would take him into Central wasn't due to arrive until the next morning.

Under normal circumstances, he and Alphonse would have just napped on the benches right in the train station. They would have talked until Edward got tired and fell asleep, and he'd doze sideways on a bench with his suitcase under his head until his brother woke him to let him know that their train had arrived. Such was the way they had spent uncounted layovers in the past, but Edward didn't think it would be a very good idea to try it this time.

New Dalwar was, like Risenbourg, a small farming community, with most of what constituted the town huddled around the intersection of river and train line. There was one inn, which was mercifully close to the train station; Alphonse walked the whole distance almost in lockstep with Edward, hands clenched in the sleeve of Edward's coat. This earned them several curious looks, but nobody said anything, not even the group of teenaged boys kicking a can around the alley beside the inn.

To Edward's surprise, the price of the room actually went _down_ when the matronly old innkeeper noticed the silver chain at his belt. He didn't know why, and didn't care, but he did express his gratitude.

"Dinner is in the common room, there, in half an hour," said the innkeeper, with a curious glance at Alphonse. But, like most everyone else, she was too polite to ask why Edward's companion was pressed against him and twitching nervously.

"Is there any chance I can get something sent up to my room?" asked Edward.

She smiled at him and said, "There's a very good chance of that."

Once up in their room, there wasn't much to do. Alphonse calmed down a little once the door was closed, but not enough for Edward to feel that leaving him alone for any length of time would be reasonable. Edward opened the window, despite the coldness of the end of the day, and leaned out of it a little. The window overlooked the road, but there wasn't much traffic, so he watched the sky turn colors as the sun slid toward the horizon.

"This really sucks," he said. He could hear Alphonse moving around behind him, the shift of cloth against itself, but didn't turn to look. "We're not even in Central yet and this already sucks. How in the hell am I going to get you from the train to headquarters? I'll need to commandeer a car or something, and that will mean people asking questions. I don't need questions. I'll have enough when I see Mustang, that bastard probably already knows what's going on and he'll want me to explain myself."

Alphonse made a distressed sound, and Edward glanced over his shoulder; he could feel his expression soften from a hard frown into a gentle smile at the sight of his brother's unhappiness. "It's okay. I'm not mad at you. Here, come sit by the window."

Transferring Alphonse from his seat on the bed to the chair by the window was relatively easy, and Edward pulled up another one to sit beside his brother. "See? We can watch the sunset from here." He hoped Alphonse would tolerate Edward being next to him while the sun went down, because there was no way Edward was going to leave him alone next to a third-story open window. "I just ... wish you'd talk to me. That's all." He laid his head on Alphonse's shoulder. "Everything would be fine, if I just knew what you were thinking. I ... want to know that you're okay in there."

Alphonse made an odd little sound, and Edward held his breath. As always, however, the little grunt was not followed by anything. "Speak to me, Al. _Please._ Just one word. Just one. I swear, I'll never ask anything of you again. Just one word."

He waited for a long time, long enough for the sun to touch the horizon. There was nothing more. Edward turned his face into his brother's shoulder, the pain in his belly devouring him alive.

"How could I do this to you?" he whispered roughly. "What was I thinking? What was I thinking? Why didn't you stop me?"

A knock at the door roused him, and made Alphonse jerk. Edward wiped his face and went to open it, finding the gently smiling innkeeper on the other side.

"You wanting your dinner yet, boys?" she asked.

"Thanks," said Edward, and tried to smile back. "Sorry about the trouble, but ..."

"It's no trouble at all," she said, interrupting him before he had to try to explain why feeding Alphonse in the common room would have been problematic. She had a tray with her, which was placed on the bureau, and she began to bustle about, arranging plates and dishes.

"That's ... very kind of you," said Edward, but his eyes were on Alphonse; with the advent of another person in the room, his brother had shrank back against the wall beside the window. It seemed like a good idea to cross the room and lay a comforting hand on Alphonse's hair, and lend his brother one of the lapels of his coat to hide his face in.

"Oh, nonsense. You've obviously got a lot on your mind, and anything I can do to help you out, you just say so."

Edward wondered where this assessment had originated, but decided that he didn't care enough to ask. So he said only, "Thank you. I appreciate it."

The innkeeper finished arranging the dishes and turned her smile back to him. The smile was somewhat sad, although there was no reason for that as far as Edward could see. "If there's anything else you boys need, you be sure and let me know. When you're done, just put the tray outside your door."

Alphonse made a soft, distressed sound when the door closed behind the innkeeper, and Edward ruffled his hair. "It's okay," he said. "You don't need to be afraid. Nobody is going to hurt you, I won't let them. Come on, let's sit on the floor."

Dinner turned out to be a tureen full of thick crawdad chowder, not unlike the chowder that Auntie Pinako would make in the heat of the summer when the river level went down and the crawdads were easy to catch. Edward sliced fingers of bread into his brother's bowl and spooned the chowder over the top of them, to make it easier to handle. Alphonse ate the chowder slowly, and once Edward had eaten two bowls of his own, he watched his brother quietly and wondered what he was thinking.

"Remember when we used to catch crawdads back home?" said Edward. "It was always so hot, and the river was so cool. We'd spend as much time swimming as catching, and Winry would yell at us." He laughed a little, and said, "I remember once when you finally realized that all those crawdads were going to be killed so we could eat them, and you dropped a whole bucketful of them back into the river. We had to catch them again. Winry was so mad."

Alphonse looked up at him curiously, but did not seem to understand; Edward swallowed, the laughter dying in his throat. "Finish your dinner," he said, pointing at the bowl to draw his brother's attention back to his food.

* * *

Edward woke to the sound of Alphonse whimpering and, after his head cleared a little, the sound of voices outside the door. He sat up immediately, hampered by both the unaccustomed weight of the blankets over him and his brother's arms around him, and for one wild instant was prepared to start transmuting things to defend them because _nobody_ should be in their house.

Then he abruptly remembered that they weren't in Risenbourg anymore. This was New Dalwar, an inn in New Dalwar. The voices disappeared with the hollow thud of another door closing.

Relaxing, Edward put an arm around the shivering body pressed up against him. "Al. It's okay, Al. It's fine, we're safe." He kissed the top of Alphonse's head and stroked his brother's naked shoulders, and wondered how long he had continued to sleep while Alphonse lay awake and frightened in this strange place. "I'm sorry. It's okay. I won't let anyone hurt you." He wasn't entirely certain that Alphonse was afraid of being _hurt,_ per se, but he didn't have any better guesses.

The air was cold because Edward had left the window cracked open to dispel the stuffiness of the room, but the inn blankets were dense and heavy. Edward pulled the edge of the blankets up over his shoulders and persuaded his brother to lay back down. "It's okay," he said, smiling reassuringly, although it was dark and he wasn't sure Alphonse could see. "Everything's fine."

Edward lay down again behind his brother, spooned up against Alphonse's back, and then said, "Do you think you can go back to sleep?" The answer he got, if it was intended to be an answer, was a soft whine, and Edward ran his hand across his brother's chest. "We're okay," he said, pitching his voice as low and soothing as he could. "We've slept in a lot of inns before. This is actually a pretty nice one, as inns go. You remember that one in Canterfeld? We would have been better off sleeping in the barn, you said, and you were right. The barn probably had fewer fleas." He chuckled a little, and added, "You were right about a lot of things back then. I didn't listen to you as often as I should have, and I always regretted it when I ignored you. You always ..."

Another unsettled little whimper interrupted him; the muscles under his stroking hand were not relaxing. "Hey, it's okay. You know I'll protect you. Nothing can hurt you without going through me first, and nobody can get through me." _Trust me,_ he wanted to say, but the words stuck in his throat. The scent of Alphonse's hair was warm, familiar and comforting, and Edward laid a kiss on the smooth skin that was so close to his lips.

Sometimes, Edward dreamed. He would dream the old dream of their mother's face, twisted with pain and horror, the one that used to wake him screaming. Sometimes, for some reason, Envy would be there as well, disguised as someone Edward loved, but in his dreams he always knew it was Envy. Sometimes lately, he dreamed instead of the second transmutation, the one that had brought Alphonse back to him. Those dreams should have been beautiful.

It felt a little bit like a dream when Alphonse responded to his chaste kiss by squirming around to face him, arms going around him to cling, and Edward closed his eyes to take his brother's mouth. This wasn't their cozy second-story bedroom back in Risenbourg, surrounded by an empty house and miles of nothing, and there was a surreality to the wet taste and haphazard motions of Alphonse's mouth that went entirely beyond the strange tang that was always there. The blankets were too heavy, the air too cold outside of them. A tight shiver briefly gripped Edward's spine, despite the warmth of his brother's arms.

They lay on their sides now, facing each other, and Edward ran his free hand up Alphonse's flank, then down his back. It was going to be entirely impossible _not_ to get aroused, not with Alphonse pressing closer, feeding him hungry kisses and needy sighs. Edward didn't try to resist.

When Edward broke the kiss and mouthed his brother's throat, the moment of bizarre unreality abruptly peaked. This couldn't be happening - it was one thing for him to fit one leg between his brother's at what passed for their home, so he could feel Alphonse's erection against his thigh. It was quite another to do this in the late-night darkness of an inn, with a hundred strangers within shouting distance. To taste moist skin under his lips in this place, where untold numbers of strangers had slept before them, where the matronly innkeeper with her kind smile would later come and see the imprint of their bodies on the sheets ... was obscene in a way it had never been before.

Edward shivered again, guilt and shame and arousal braided together in like colors, so that there was no way to tell one feeling from the other two. His own cock had gone from flaccid to painfully erect in less than a minute, and he caught himself thrusting helplessly against Alphonse's hip.

Maybe, thought Edward, it wouldn't be so bad if he could only know that Alphonse knew what was happening. If Alphonse _knew_ what Edward was doing to him, really understood in terms other than just knowing that the experience felt good, would he still want Edward to touch him? Would he still moan softly when Edward's hand went between his legs to fondle his testicles, when Edward's mouth fastened onto his nipple? Would his hand still go, rough and heavy and uncoordinated, through Edward's hair, pulling at the braid?

The skin of Alphonse's scrotum was soft and yielding, but Edward had to nudge his brother's legs with his own knee to get them to spread apart. "Tell me this is okay," he whispered against his brother's chest. "Please, Al. I need to know." It was hopeless, and Edward did not really believe that Alphonse would respond to his pleas, but he couldn't stop making them as he kissed his way down his brother's belly. "Tell me that you're okay with this," he whispered before going entirely under the covers.

The only response he received was a broken sigh of pleasure, muffled by the blankets, as he rubbed his cheek against Alphonse's cock. It was hot and hard against his skin, damp with sweat, and the smell was ... Edward moaned, breathing the close, over-warm air through the musky hair at the base of Alphonse's cock. He'd never done this before, and he wasn't sure why he was doing it now, but there was no way to resist now that he'd smelled it. The scent was intoxicating, similar to his own sexual aroma, but subtly different. Better, somehow. His hips moved on their own, thrusting into the mattress as he opened his mouth for his brother's cock.

If Alphonse made any kind of sound as Edward took as much as he could, the blankets muffled it entirely. It wasn't as if Alphonse was ever especially loud, which Edward supposed was fortunate when he was able to spare a little attention from the dual distractions of the feel of having a cock in his mouth, and the pleasure of rubbing himself against the mattress. He was obliged to rest his weight on his brother's thighs to prevent Alphonse from thrusting into his mouth, but once that was done he took his time, exploring the contrast of foreskin and glans with his tongue, then sliding his lips as far down the shaft as possible. It was hard to _breathe_ under the blankets, smothering and _hot,_ and Edward started to feel a little lightheaded. That didn't stop him, though ... he could feel Alphonse writhing, jerking under the weight holding him down. It felt like power, and apology.

With Alphonse held mostly still and silenced by the layers of cloth between them, Edward had no cues at all to gauge how close his brother was to coming. It was a surprise when he sucked, suddenly and hard, and got a mouth full of semen. It made Edward choke at first.

The skin on Alphonse's belly and chest was considerably more damp when Edward kissed his way back up his brother's body and gasped cool, oxygen-rich air. His hand was already on his own cock, needing no encouragement to stroke himself swiftly to orgasm with his tongue in his brother's mouth. It hit him hard, rolling up his body from his groin and leaving him sprawled, panting and spent, across Alphonse. He couldn't even be bothered to worry about the slick wetness of his come between their bodies.

Neither of them moved for several minutes. Edward rested with his head on Alphonse's shoulder, his eyes closed, somewhat dizzy and increasingly sleepy.

"I'm sorry," he whispered against Alphonse's neck several minutes later. "I wish I knew you wanted that." He waited drowsily for an answer, and heard only the gentle sound of his brother breathing. "I wish ..." He tapered off, not entirely sure what he wished, and sleep overtook him before he could fully compose the thought.

* * *

"You boys not staying for breakfast?"

Edward paused and looked around until he found the innkeeper, standing in a doorway down the hall. "No, thank you," he said, offering her a smile over his shoulder.

"Train to Central doesn't leave for another two hours. Breakfast is complimentary." She gave them both a shrewd look, Edward with his suitcase, Alphonse with both arms wrapped around one of Edward's, and added, "Nobody else is up yet. Come on and eat." And, when Edward hesitated further, she smiled that motherly, vaguely sad smile and gestured. "Come on. Even alchemists have to eat."

The room she led them into wasn't the big common room, where Edward presumed she fed the inn guests and whatever townsfolk wandered in, but the kitchen instead. There was a table here, small and rough-built, and she gestured for them to sit down.

"Thank you," said Edward, pulling Alphonse to sit beside him and trying to adjust his brother's grip; his arm felt like it was losing circulation.

"Oh, it's no trouble at all. There's nothing good about letting you run off without breakfast, especially if your next stop is going to be Central."

"Who said I'm going to Central?" asked Edward.

Two bowls of something like thick porridge were set down in front of them, followed by a pitcher of frothing milk, a bowl of brown sugar, and a plate of sliced strawberries. "Where else would a State Alchemist be going on the early train? You're not the first State Alchemist to come through my inn. Eat up now."

Edward mixed some sugar and strawberries into his brother's breakfast, and then let him try to handle the spoon by himself; Alphonse gave up pretty quickly, and scooped the porridge up with his fingers.

"I'm kind of used to people throwing me out on the street when they find out I'm a State Alchemist," said Edward between bites of his own breakfast.

"It's a shame how people behave sometimes," said their host as she tucked loaves of bread into the oven. "My husband, God rest his soul, always said that all State Alchemists are good men trapped by bad circumstances."

Nodding a little, Edward wished he could believe that. But this wasn't the time or the place to go into the psychoses of the people who were theoretically his allies and co-workers.

The innkeeper went on, "Everything happens for a reason, they say. I'm not sure I believe _that,_ but I'm sure you have your reasons for wanting that watch of yours, and God has his reasons for wanting you to have it. It's not for me to tell you that you're wrong, now is it?"

Edward was never comfortable when people started to drag God into their conversations ... he couldn't share the belief, and things tended to turn awkward if he mentioned his blunt atheism. So he changed the subject and said, "Do you have any coffee?"


	6. Chapter 6

Edward tried to sleep on the train, and only managed to fall into a kind of half-doze, propped against his brother in much the same way his brother was propped against him, both of them swaying with the motions of the train. He wasn't sure exactly what brought him to full wakefulness, but when he opened his eyes the first thing he saw was their interlaced fingers, the white cloth of his glove dovetailing around pale flesh.

_I'll never let anything happen to you,_ he promised his brother silently, with the grogginess of that moment between sleep and waking. His fingers twitched a little, closing over Alphonse's, and the joints protested the change in position after stiffening over the hours he'd napped.

Glancing out the window, Edward saw that the train had left the farmlands behind and was approaching Central. So that was what had woken him, the subtle feel of the train beginning to slow down.

He had to find some way to keep Alphonse away from Mustang. Mustang would have something to say about his brother's condition, and Edward had no delusions that it would be anything good. If he was lucky, he could hope for merely snarky, something along the lines of, _So this is the grand result of all those years of research and work. The College of State Alchemists will be thrilled to get your thesis and find out how little you managed to accomplish with their grants._ Edward would probably murder the man if he said something like that, but it would be preferable to some alternatives.

The best scenario, of course, would be for Alphonse and Mustang to just never cross paths. Edward could tell Mustang that his brother was ill, or shy, or busy, or anything but _broken,_ and it would be plausible only if Mustang never laid eyes on the truth. The fact that Alphonse could barely let Edward out of his sight was going to be a problem ... he'd have to let his brother get comfortable in wherever they decided to stay, and then sneak out and leave his coat behind or something.

"Inn again, definitely," murmured Edward, half to himself and half to his dozing brother. Edward knew of an inn in Central with a very nice innkeeper, who had always had kind words for them both; they had stayed there from time to time when they were in Central and didn't want to advertise their presence by taking a room in the dormitory. It was inconveniently far from headquarters, but that wasn't necessarily a bad thing if one was trying to hide from military personnel, and if Edward paid extra he was sure he could get the innkeeper to check in on Alphonse from time to time.

He didn't like the idea of leaving his brother alone, though, even if there was someone checking up on him. Edward tried to mentally catalogue how long, in real time, he had spent loitering around headquarters in East City, and was discouraged by his totals. There had always been secretaries to charm into typing up his reports for him, held mail to sort through, itinerant alchemists to avoid, expense accounts to write, grants to request ... if he actually needed to talk to someone, he always ended up cooling his heels for awhile first ... it always took hours and hours, even when Edward was making a conscious effort to spend as little time there as possible. Leaving Alphonse alone for hours at a time would fray his nerves to the limit.

Letting Mustang see Alphonse, however, was just not an acceptable alternative. Once he had his next assignment, he would worry about how to manage it when the time came.

The sound of the tracks changed as the train moved onto the bridge into Central, and Edward nudged his brother. "Al. Al, wake up, we're almost there."

Edward tried to put his worries out of his mind as Alphonse blinked at their linked hands, and then sat up. The look that Alphonse cast around himself was confused and wondering, as if seeing it all for the very first time, but there was no fear yet and Edward smiled at him.

"We're almost there," he said again, and draped his arm over his brother's shoulders to hug him for a moment. The motion was unexpectedly painful, his joints grinding as he moved, and Edward frowned. He never used to get stiff like this just riding a damned train.

As the train pulled into the station, other passengers began to gather their things, stand up, and prepare to disembark. Alphonse drew a little closer to Edward and curled their fingers together, but wasn't hiding his face yet. "Just let them all get off first," said Edward, setting his suitcase up on the seat facing him, where it would be easier to grab when they left. Every motion was painful. "There's no rush."

Having decided to take each challenge as it came, Edward wondered how to get Alphonse to the inn. There were always one or two cars from the military motor pool hanging around the train station, waiting to be commandeered, and while Edward's honorary rank was insufficient to entitle him to one, his silver watch made up the difference. A car would make the trip a lot faster and easier, but would entail dealing with a military driver, who might spread rumors about the Fullmetal Alchemist's brother. On the other hand, walking all the way to the inn from the train station would not only be more difficult, it carried a high risk of someone seeing them and starting a rumor anyway.

They'd need to pick up something to eat at some point as well. The prospect of food made Edward feel a little queasy, but neither of them had eaten anything since breakfast, and Alphonse would be hungry, surely.

By the time the last of the other passengers was leaving, Edward still hadn't decided what he was going to do. Perhaps he could take his chances with one of the inns that clustered around the train station.

"Come on, Al," he said, standing and stretching; this failed to drive the ache out of his muscles the way he'd expected it to. Persuading Alphonse to stand as well was a lot easier. "Let's go."

Alphonse came willingly enough. One hand was tightly twisted in Edward's sleeve, but he didn't seem to find it necessary to graft himself to Edward's arm yet. Edward gave his brother a bright grin that he didn't really feel, and was encouraged when his grin was mirrored back at him.

"We're going to do this," he said, as they stepped off the train. "We've done so much before, this isn't going to break us. As long as we're together, nothing can stop us, right? I know I've been pessimistic, and I know I need to stop that."

People swarmed around them, moving here and there through the station to buy tickets, catch trains, leave trains, change trains, meet people who were stepping off trains, load cargo, collect cargo. Alphonse's courage seemed to desert him, and he pressed himself suddenly and tightly against Edward's side, both hands clutching Edward's red sleeve.

"It's fine, it's fine," said Edward, pulling Alphonse toward the station exit. "We'll be out of here in no time. I promise."

Then he yelped as a hand landed on his shoulder, and the very last voice he wanted to hear in the world said, "Fullmetal."

* * *

Mustang had a car. Of _course_ Mustang had a car.

"How did you know I was coming?" said Edward. He sat in the middle of the back seat, between the Colonel and his brother with his arms folded defensively. Alphonse's face was buried in his shoulder again, and that made Edward unhappy. So did the headache that was beginning to throb in his temples.

The question was ignored, but Edward had half-expected that. "I suppose you weren't on your way to headquarters to request a room," said Mustang. "Where were you headed?"

"Why do you want to know?" It took real effort to keep his voice even.

"Because I'll take you there if you just tell me," said Mustang, with an air of great patience.

Damn the man. Edward flexed his fingers, which were still feeling stiff and painful, and tried not to think about how good it would feel to deck his commanding officer. "We were going to stay at an inn over on Davidson Avenue."

Leaning forward a little, Mustang surveyed both Elrics beside him, and said in a neutral tone, "That's a little far from headquarters, isn't it?"

Edward glared at the back of the front seat. "Yes sir."

"You want I should head that way?" asked Havoc from behind the wheel.

Nobody replied, and the car did not alter course. Edward could tell that they were on route to headquarters without even watching the scenery out the windows.

After a long, awkward silence, Mustang said quietly, "How were you planning to hide this, Fullmetal?"

Just the sound of the man's _voice_ was enough to make Edward's rage bubble over. "Who said I was planning on hiding anything!?"

Because Edward's eyes were fixed on the back of the front seat, he felt more than saw the meaningful look Mustang gave him. Alphonse shifted, pressing himself more closely to his older brother. "Perhaps I should have read your letters more carefully," said the Colonel. "I don't recall you mentioning ..."

"Shut up!" said Edward, before he knew what he was saying. He didn't want _that_ to come out of Mustang's mouth, especially not in that cavalier, look-at-the-amusing-thing-Fullmetal-has-done-now tone of voice. It at least had the desired effect; Mustang broke off instantly in surprise, and after a moment, Edward added in a lower tone, "Sir."

When Mustang spoke again, his voice was pitched a bit differently, and some of the tone that had been rubbing Edward wrong was gone from it. "Stashing Alphonse in an inn while you pretend nothing is wrong doesn't strike me as the best plan. But perhaps there was more to it than that."

Since Edward hadn't yet come up with anything else, he said nothing, just frowned angrily forward. This situation was going to become intolerable. He just knew it.

After a long pause, the Colonel said, "Lieutenant."

"Sir?" said Havoc.

"Home, please."

"Yours, I assume?"

"Correct."

"What?" asked Edward. And was it his imagination, or did Alphonse raise his head slightly off Edward's shoulder at the exchange?

As Havoc took the next right-hand turn, Mustang said, "I want the two of you to stay in my guest room."

_"What!?"_

That tone of amused tolerance was back in the Colonel's voice as he said, "Obviously you don't want to stay in the dorms. I doubt you want your brother left alone for long periods of time either."

"That doesn't mean we want to live with _you,"_ said Edward. His headache spiked suddenly, and he resisted the urge to rub his temple.

Mustang gave him an odd look out of the corner of one dark eye. "You and I need to have a long, long talk Fullmetal. We can do this in my office, with your brother alone in an inn, or we can do it in my home with your brother sitting beside you. It's really up to you."

Alphonse made a soft sound in Edward's ear, one that wasn't easily categorized. Edward growled, and said nothing further.

* * *

The threatened talk didn't happen immediately, as Edward had more than half-feared. Mustang showed them his guest room and told Edward they were welcome to eat anything they wanted, and that he would be back soon. Almost before Edward could turn around again, the Colonel was gone on whatever business he had at this time of the afternoon.

"I really can't stand him," muttered Edward. He set his suitcase down on the floor. "Come on, let's see what that bastard has in his kitchen."

As soon as the suitcase was down, however, Alphonse tugged on him to make him turn around, and to Edward's surprise started kissing him. So great was his surprise at this sudden affection that when Alphonse lost his balance and fell against him, Edward overbalanced and fell as well, toppling sideways onto the bed as his leg caught the edge. Reflexes alone made him catch himself with his automail, and then Alphonse landed on him, heavy enough to bruise and still trying to kiss him. Very few of the kisses landed on Edward's mouth, and it didn't take much to figure out that Alphonse was looking for comfort more than sex.

"What's the matter?" asked Edward gently, holding his brother in a tight embrace that made his muscles ache. "It'll be all right, I promise. I promise."

The worst that could happen, of course, would be for Mustang to have Alphonse sent off a lab. That had been a danger for years, though, and although the Colonel liked to threaten, Edward had stopped believing that it would ever actually happen. He no longer remembered at what point the Colonel's threats had stopped sounding like threats and had started to sound like just one of those things the Colonel always said that meant nothing. When it had joined the same category as _"Sit up straight, Fullmetal," "Don't glare at the General,"_ and _"Since you announce yourself everywhere you go anyway, why don't we have you fitted for a uniform?"_

There were probably other things Mustang could do that would make life unpleasant. He'd probably have to put up with a lot of those judgmental looks, the cool ones that weighed everything he was and everything he'd ever done and invariably found him wanting. The ones that made him feel like a freshly-mortal twelve-year-old again. He'd already gotten one back in the train station, after Mustang had taken a good, close look at Alphonse. Edward, in his concern over what Mustang would _say,_ had forgotten just how bad those looks could be, especially when Mustang wasn't saying anything at all.

There was no point in telling Alphonse any of this, though ... if Alphonse was capable of understanding, he already knew it.

Having a warm, pliant body next to his own was having the expected effect on Edward's libido despite the rust in his muscles and the light throb that signaled the beginnings of a headache, but he tried to ignore it. Rolling Alphonse over onto his back made him easier to kiss, but Edward tried to restrict himself to dry, closed-lipped kisses on his brother's cheek. "It'll be okay," he said once more, burying his face in the crook of Alphonse's neck. His coat spread out over the both of them, the chafe of cloth against cloth suddenly uncomfortable. "Nothing will happen to you. _Or_ me. Okay?"

While his brother clutched him by the lapels of his coat, Edward stroked his sandy hair and kissed his temple, until Alphonse started to relax a little. "It's nothing," said Edward, soothingly. "Nothing is going to happen, I swear."

He hoped Alphonse didn't suddenly need comforting like this while Mustang was around. The clutching and hair-petting would be pretty easy to explain ... the moist kisses less so, and if Alphonse developed an erection, Edward might well die on the spot of shame. So far, Alphonse had remained well-behaved around other people, but given his brother's erratic behavior, it seemed like just a matter of time before Alphonse decided that he wanted a cuddle and forgot that they had an audience.

For this reason, Edward gave serious consideration for a few long moments to sliding down his brother's body, unfastening his pants, and using his mouth on his brother's cock until he came. It had nothing at all to do with his own desire to taste Alphonse again ... nothing at all. However, there was no telling when Mustang would get back. It could be ten seconds or four hours. It was tempting to assume a best-case scenario, but Edward's better sense was assisted by the headache and got control of him before things went too far.

Besides which, the man hadn't even said why he'd left. If Edward were inclined toward paranoia, he might get carried away in nervous speculation about military police and military prisons and military labs. So before Alphonse began to get more out of the kisses than the comfort he'd originally seemed to want, Edward drew back and laid his head on his brother's shoulder. "Everything's going to be okay," he promised softly.

He should really go find out what kind of stuff the Colonel had in his kitchen and feed Alphonse. Edward himself still felt a little sick to his stomach with nerves, too much so to eat, but Alphonse would probably eat if offered food. It was terribly comfortable to just rest here, though, sprawled half-over Alphonse with their limbs tangled together, and Edward was loathe to get up.

Before he knew it, he'd closed his eyes with his brother's arms around him, and dozed.


	7. Chapter 7

_And we'll only be making it right_  
_Cause we'll never be wrong_  
_Together_

"Leave me alone."

"You have to eat something."

"Not hungry. Go away."

Edward felt Mustang's weight on the edge of the bed shift, and then the mattress sprang back up as the weight was removed. He did not look, however, because he had the irrational idea that opening his eyes would make his headache even more intolerable than it already was; it was kind of hard to imagine how it could get worse, but he still kept his eyes tightly closed.

"You're never going to get better if you don't eat something, Fullmetal," said Mustang, and dammit but that tone of disappointment was getting on Edward's nerves. He was hearing it entirely too much lately. "You're worrying your brother, now come on and eat."

If Alphonse had actually stood there and demanded that Edward eat, the way Mustang was, Edward would have been helpless to deny him. But just having Mustang say it was a different matter. "Just let me sleep," he muttered.

There was silence for a long time, and then the sound of Mustang gathering up dishes and retreating. He didn't close the door behind him, and Edward could hear the man moving around the house.

It was cold in the room. Edward wished that Mustang had more blankets on the bed, but when he'd mentioned it that morning the Colonel had just given him an odd look and refused to come up with another one. It had been tolerable the night before, when he had Alphonse to cuddle up to, but with his brother awake and in another room, he was left shivering in the chill.

Mustang's voice came to him, drifting in from the kitchen as the Colonel spoke to Alphonse. It was enraging, absolutely enraging that someone other than Edward should be caring for Alphonse, making sure he ate and kept out of trouble, and Edward burrowed deeper into the blankets to try to block out the sound. He was tired, dammit, and wanted to sleep, but sleep was a distressingly difficult thing to catch when every motion cost him in pain through every joint, and nausea sat like poison in his belly.

It was especially difficult with Mustang periodically waking him with admonitions that he should eat something.

"Fullmetal," said Mustang, and Edward interrupted him immediately.

"I'm not hungry," he muttered. "I'd probably just throw it up anyway, so leave me alone."

"At least drink some water. Just a little bit. You're worrying your brother, and you're starting to worry me too."

Edward groaned and flinched away from the touch on his shoulder; it hurt even through the insulating layer of blanket. Just the idea of putting something into his stomach made it roil, although he had to admit that he _was_ a little thirsty. "I've only been sick for a day and a half. Nobody dies in a day and a half, so go away."

"I didn't say you were going to die. I said ..."

But what Mustang had said was postponed by the sound of Alphonse falling in the next room. As Mustang went to investigate the noise, Edward swore weakly at his back, but couldn't put a lot of volume into it. "You said you could take care of him, you bastard," he whispered.

"I can," called Mustang from the other room, and then his voice lowered, addressing Alphonse while Edward went back to his quiet misery.

"So much for civilization," murmured Edward. He'd never gotten sick in Risenbourg, and neither had Alphonse. And if Alphonse came down with this too ...

Something crashed in the next room, and Edward rolled over and put his head under the pillow in an attempt to ignore it. The motion was agonizing, the weight of his automail dragging on the bones of his shoulder and the joints in his back, and he moaned a little with the pain of it. Reaching out blindly with his steel hand, he groped for the bedside table with a vague idea of maybe drinking a little of the water he thought Mustang had brought him. But when he was unable to locate the furniture by touch, he raised his head and blinked into the light, and saw that the table was empty anyway.

"Dammit," he said, as something else broke in the living room.

He'd thrown up twice earlier, and he felt like throwing up again as he dragged himself up out of bed. It hurt so much to move - every muscle felt like it had ground glass inside it, and his headache blossomed like an explosion behind his eyes - but he told himself he'd been through worse. He'd been cold laying in bed, but the air was colder yet, and he pulled his coat off a chair and over his naked shoulders, shivering violently. The fabric was also cold, and leeched heat from his skin as he staggered toward the doorway.

"What are you doing up?" demanded Mustang crossly, standing up from where he'd been sitting on the couch. There was nothing visibly broken, but Edward could see an array sketched onto the floor.

"Where's my brother?" asked Edward, leaning against the door frame for support. Standing up was making him more queasy, and he swallowed against the nausea.

Mustang gestured vaguely behind the couch. "Something's interested him back there."

"Well, get him out from there. He's not a dog." The ache in Edward's joints and the nausea in the back of his throat began to get the better of him, and he wondered if he could make it to a chair and sit down before he collapsed again.

"You should really drink some water or something," said Mustang, as he looked behind the couch. "And go back to bed."

"Hrmph." Edward decided that he preferred to just slide down the wall where he was, and curl up in his coat on the floor. It was so _cold,_ but the floor was comfortable enough otherwise, and the coolness of the hardwood against his cheek was soothing to his stomach. He could feel the vibrations of Mustang's and his brother's steps through the floor, and imagined he could track their motions quite well that way.

"Now who's acting like a dog?" said Mustang, and the amusement in the man's tone made Edward frown in annoyance. But when Mustang crouched beside Edward and a hand brushed his hair aside, all the amusement fled immediately. "Fullmetal ..." said the Colonel, his tone annoyingly serious.

"Mmm," said Edward. It was so unexpectedly comfortable here on the floor; if he had a blanket, he could sleep here quite readily. When Mustang tried to pull him upright by the shoulder, he made an unhappy noise and said, "Don't touch me. Leave me alone, let me sleep."

"Not on the floor. Come on, sit up." Edward found himself being dragged to sit up, sideways across the doorway, and he squinted up at Mustang with an irritated frown. "I'll get you some water," said the Colonel, "and then you need to get back in bed."

Pulling his coat closer around himself, Edward said darkly, "I can take care of myself." The promise of something to drink, though, kept him from just laying down again; his nausea didn't think much of the prospect, but the dry ache in the back of his throat disagreed. "Why is your damned house so cold?"

"It's not," said Mustang from the kitchen. "You're feverish."

That wasn't exactly news to Edward, but he doubted his fever accounted for _all_ of his shivering. "It's freezing in here." It was uncomfortable to sit upright, the weight of his automail arm pulling hard on his shoulder.

"Don't be stupid, Fullmetal. Why would my house be freezing?" Mustang crouched down next to him, and the glass he offered was only about a third full. "Just drink a little and then we'll get you back into bed."

Edward swallowed one mouthful of water, and immediately thought better of trying to drink the rest. It was cold in his belly, an alien substance that his stomach didn't like at all. "Let me sleep here," he said, closing his eyes.

Implacable, Mustang hauled him up by his automail and forced him to stand; Edward was distantly surprised that the Colonel was that strong. "You'll make yourself more sick sleeping on a cold floor," said Mustang. "Back to bed."

"I hate you," said Edward weakly, as he was moved back into the bedroom, his coat removed, and he was pushed back down onto the bed. Moving around made his headache slam down again, and he was almost blinded by it. The blankets still held the warmth of his body, though, and laying down settled some of the nausea that the swallow of water had engendered.

"That's great," said Mustang, tucking the blanket in around him. "When you stop hating me, let me know and I'll call the mortuary."

Damn the man. Edward closed his eyes and hoped he would get to dismember Mustang in his dreams.

* * *

It was dimmer when he woke up, although Edward couldn't tell if it was morning or evening, and he couldn't hear or see Mustang anywhere. The only thing he could see when he opened his eyes was his brother's face, watching him.

"Hey," he said, and the word was harsh and croaked in his ears. He was still cold, although he'd stopped shivering in his sleep, and he was terribly thirsty. "Come here."

Alphonse, who had been sitting or kneeling on the floor next to the bed, immediately crawled up into it and into Edward's arms. He was fully dressed and smelled relatively clean, and a bit of tired rage stirred in Edward as he wondered how that had been accomplished. His brother didn't kiss him or make any kind of sound, just curled himself up as small as possible so he could fit up against Edward like a child.

"It's okay," said Edward, closing his eyes again. It felt so good to hold Alphonse, feel his warmth and the weight of him pressed so tightly against him. "I'll always love you," he murmured, and slept again.

* * *

When he woke the second time, it was definitely night. Alphonse was gone, and Mustang was sitting next to him instead, which Edward considered to be something less than equivalent trade.

What had woken him was the Colonel brushing a cool wet cloth over his forehead. Edward batted weakly at Mustang's hand, but it _did_ feel good, and he soon closed his eyes again. "Leave me alone," he said, out of habit.

"Edward," said Mustang softly. "What went wrong with the transmutation?"

"Nothing," said Edward. What an odd question.

"Did you take notes? Write anything down?"

"No. Thirsty."

Mustang helped him sit up and gave him a glass with a little water in it; his metal fingers clinked against the glass, and Edward thought it was very ironic that his automail was the only part of him that didn't hurt. He felt marginally better as he lay back down, and didn't protest it again when Mustang ran the cool cloth over his face and neck.

"I didn't see anything going wrong," said Mustang softly.

"With what?"

"When you transmuted your brother. What happened?"

"I told you. Nothing went wrong." What was so damned important about that right now, anyway? He was shivering again and wanted to sleep before the water triggered his nausea, and his headache was killing him.

"Edward," said Mustang, and Edward frowned. The Colonel never called him by name. This must be some kind of hallucination. "You have to tell me."

"Not important," he murmured. "Let me sleep."

"Not until you tell me." That cool cloth moved over Edward's face again, then the blankets were tugged aside so it could reach his neck and chest, and he moaned a little. Now he knew it was a hallucination ... Mustang would never be so kind to him. "What happened?"

Edward scowled without opening his eyes. It was persistent like Mustang, why did it have to accurately resemble Mustang in this one thing? "Had a hard time pulling in the Stone," he mumbled. Obviously the only way to make the hallucination go away was to tell it what it wanted. "Didn't bind it to the array because I wanted to control the ... the, you know, rate. At which it was consumed. Then had a hard time pulling it in." He shivered again, and tried to pull the blanket back up to his throat, but the Colonel yanked it down to his waist again. "Cold."

"You're not cold, Edward." Bah, what would a hallucination know about whether or not he was cold? "What happened then?"

"Mmmph. Cold. Let me sleep."

"No. What happened then?" There was the sound of sloshing and dripping water, and then the cool cloth was being pressed to his forehead again.

He didn't _want_ to talk about this, not even to a hallucination that was being kind to him. "Where's Al?"

"Sleeping in the other room. He isn't sick yet. Tell me what happened. You couldn't get the Stone into the transmutation? Is that what went wrong?"

"No. It hurt until I got it in." It had hurt terribly, like being torn apart and like the fear of knowing exactly what was happening, and there had been a moment of panic when Edward wasn't sure if he could keep his concentration in the face of that withering fear. "Knew the Gate was behind me, but then ... it was in, and there was power. Fuck there was power, and everything went fine."

He broke off there, licking his lips and wishing there was more water. He was so thirsty, so thirsty, and so cold, and he ached everywhere, like every joint was full of sand every time he moved, and he just wanted to sleep. Sleep and be gone from the headache that was crushing him and all the pain and all the cold.

"Edward," said the hallucination again. It was so strange that he could be so cold, and yet cool water on his face felt so soothing. "What happened then?"

"What?"

"After you pulled in the Stone. What happened then?"

"Mmm. Why is it important _now?"_

There was a hesitation, and then the Colonel said, "It just is. What happened after you got the Stone in the transmutation?"

Edward groaned and pawed vaguely at the air. There was no reason he could see why his sleep should be interrupted by such nonsense. "Opened the Gate on my terms. Pulled Al through, destroyed the armor, soul settled into his body almost ... without me having to push. Went fine. Expected."

Mustang paused for a moment, and then said, "If everything went fine, why is Alphonse like this?"

Edward tried to open his eyes, but it was dark and his head hurt, so he gave up. "Do you think I know? Damn you. Would have ... fixed it if ... if I knew."

"Something must have happened."

"Didn't. Now let me sleep."

"Edward ..."

Edward's automail was not hampered at all by the aching agony that accompanied every motion, and there was a little sound of retreat as he stabbed blindly with his fist toward the sound of Mustang's voice. "Told you what you wanted. Let me sleep, dammit." He managed to catch the edge of the blanket and pull it weakly up to cover himself again, in blissful warmth.

He did not hear the Colonel leave, and perhaps he didn't. Nor did Edward think any further on why the man had felt a need to interrogate him in the middle of the night.

* * *

At some time between midnight and dawn, Edward's fever broke, and when he woke for the third time it was morning, and he was drenched in sweat.

There was a glass of water on the table beside the bed, and he drank almost all of it before figuring out that this was a bad idea. Fortunately, the bucket Mustang had procured for his nausea the day before had been cleaned out and was conveniently in reach.

The sound of Edward retching summoned his commanding officer. "I take it you're not feeling any better," said Mustang.

"Leave me alone," said Edward, as soon as he could. Once he no longer felt like throwing up, he collapsed half-off the bed and nudged the bucket off to the side. The grinding ache in his joints was gone, but he felt weak and wrung-out; his headache hadn't gone anywhere, and throwing up had given it a chance to clamp down on him again.

"I turn my back for just one minute, and you go and drink the whole glass," said Mustang, picking up the glass. "You weren't supposed to drink it all at once."

Edward raised his automail arm and vised his fingers meaningfully. "Come here and put your throat in my hand so I can strangle you."

"I take it back. You must be feeling better if you're homicidal." The Colonel chuckled as he walked out of the room, and there came the sound of running water from the kitchen, and something that must have been addressed to Alphonse. Then he was back with more water. "Don't drink the whole glass this time. Just drink a little."

Edward muttered his opinion of the Colonel's parentage under his breath as he hauled himself to a sitting position and sipped, but the sound of Alphonse falling in the next room made him glare at Mustang. "Don't just let him stumble around like that," he said angrily. "You have to stay with him."

Mustang looked like he had something to say about that, but Alphonse interrupted them both by tripping into the room. He steadied himself against the doorframe, and then he was on the bed and crawling toward Edward. The water glass went down on the table again as Edward pulled his brother toward him and into a tight hug.

"The Colonel hasn't been taking care of you like he said he would, has he," said Edward, brushing his good hand through Alphonse's hair.

"I have," said Mustang, shifting the water glass farther away so that it wouldn't get knocked over by accident. "I've been taking care of the both of you, for all the gratitude I get."

"Yeah, letting him trip around the house is a great way to take care of him," said Edward acidly.

"I was more worried about you, yesterday. You started talking in your sleep when your fever got too high."

Edward peered at him. "I don't talk in my sleep."

"Well, you were last night. I called the base hospital, but they said they didn't have any beds free unless you were dying. I was about to take you in anyway, but then your temperature started to come down on its own."

That was disturbing. Edward pressed his lips to the top of his brother's head, and looked at the wall. Mustang continued, "Alphonse somehow managed not to break any bones while I was trying to figure out if you were dying or not, so I think I did a perfectly acceptable job."

Edward would have thrown something at the man if there had been anything sufficiently hard and heavy at hand, and if he hadn't felt like a three-day-old kitten at the moment. He contented himself with a murderous glare, which Mustang returned to him as a self-satisfied little smile.

* * *

Lieutenant Hawkeye showed up later that morning, with a covered ceramic pot full of broth. She said she had come by to see how he was doing, but Edward suspected it was as much to make sure that Edward was really there, and was really ill, and that Mustang wasn't just using an excuse to take days off. The broth was delicious, but a bit too rich, and Edward had to water it down some to drink it. He didn't mind when Hawkeye brushed his hair back and told him to get better; it was a motherly gesture. And he especially didn't mind when she forced a stack of files onto Mustang.

After Edward had eaten most of a bowl of the broth, and Hawkeye had left, he crawled out of bed to take a bath. The underwear he'd been wearing in bed for the two days he'd been ill felt disgusting, and his skin was nasty with everything he'd sweated out since the fever broke. So, when Mustang raised an objection and tried to order him back to bed, Edward just growled.

Alphonse followed him into the bathroom, and when he tripped in the hallway they almost both fell, because Edward was in no condition to hold his brother up. That awful feeling of always being so _cold_ was gone, so he ran a lukewarm bath, and got Alphonse to sit down next to the tub so that he could stroke his brother's hair, and keep a close eye on him as he washed.

"What's he been doing to you?" he mused quietly. Alphonse's hair was clean and dry, as if he'd been bathed earlier that morning, and Edward knew very well how incapable his brother was of washing his own hair. It was one thing for Edward to move around Mustang's house half-naked, out of his own lack of giving a shit. It was quite another thing entirely for the damned Colonel to be bathing his brother for him. "I hate being sick."

Leaning against the side of the tub, Alphonse made no sound, but he watched Edward attentively enough that it was easy to pretend that he was going to say something any second now. Once Edward felt reasonably clean, he drained the water and refilled the tub; it felt entirely too good to get out yet, and he could have napped in the water given half a chance. Normally, he would have expected Alphonse's attention to wander after a couple of minutes, distracted by whatever was at hand, but after a little while of laying with his eyes closed, he opened them again and found his brother unmoved, still watching him closely.

They looked at each other for a long time before Edward leaned sideways out of the tub and said, "Come here." When Alphonse obeyed, he brushed his lips against his brother's, and Alphonse sighed and bent into the kiss.

"You don't have to worry about me," he whispered against his brother's mouth. He'd thought that Mustang was just saying that, but nothing else quite explained this level of fixation on him. "You know I'm immortal."

Alphonse made a soft little sound, and Edward didn't even bother to hope that it might be a word. As they kissed, Alphonse slid forward, pushing Edward back into the tub until he was reclining again, eyes closed and chin tilted up with his brother's tongue in his mouth. If nothing else, Alphonse had gotten a lot better at kissing in the past couple of months, although it was debatable whether or not this was a good thing.

"Need to stop," whispered Edward, when Alphonse leaned a little too far forward and had to catch himself with a hand on the other side of the tub; he missed on the first try, and almost toppled into the water before he caught the edge on the second try. Edward didn't want to stop, though. He still felt too lethargic and residually achy to have much of a need to come himself, and his head still hurt, but he wouldn't mind tasting Alphonse's come again.

What the hell had he said to Mustang while feverish?

That, more than his headache or the threat of nausea, made him nudge Alphonse away. "It's okay," he said, transferring his lips to his brother's forehead. "I promised you, I'm not going anywhere." Alphonse's hair was so fine in his fingers, and caught every color of light as Edward brushed it back from his brother's face; it was starting to grow out some, and he'd have to cut it soon.

What could he possibly have said? He vaguely remembered saying something about the transmutation, but nothing beyond that, so it could have been anything.

Had he told Mustang about the things he did with his brother? Edward kind of suspected that the Colonel would be looking at him a lot more strangely if he had, but there was no way to know. Mustang was a master of not letting on all that he knew, after all ... with Edward's luck, he'd find this sprung on him as yet another form of blackmail the next time Mustang wanted something out of him. _Oh, really, Fullmetal. You know, you said some interesting things about Alphonse that time you came down sick in my house. I'm sure General Halcrow would be fascinated to hear them._

He even knew exactly which smug tone the man would use, too.

It wasn't until Alphonse whimpered unhappily that Edward realized that he was clenching the edge of the tub with his automail; the steel was starting to bend under his fingers, the white paint cracking over the defect. "I'm sorry," he murmured, passing his fingers through Alphonse's hair again. "Everything's okay, don't worry. I'm sorry."

* * *

That evening, Edward felt well enough to drag the blanket and some of the pillows off the guest room bed and relocate onto the couch, where it was more comfortable to prop himself up to read. Mustang's company wasn't exactly his first choice, but he was tired of that room, and anyway this made it easier to keep an eye on Alphonse. Especially once Alphonse got tired and curled up on the other end of the couch on Edward's feet, with his head on Edward's knees.

"Here," said Mustang, and Edward glanced up suspiciously, but the Colonel was only offering him a ceramic mug. "You don't have to look at me like that, it's just broth."

Edward set his book aside and took the mug, and a brief investigation verified that yes, it was Hawkeye's broth, reheated and diluted. "Thank you," said Edward, ungraciously. It was warm, but not hot, and he hadn't even asked Mustang to do that for him.

"You're welcome, Fullmetal." Mustang paused at his desk and flipped through the files that Hawkeye had brought, but did not actually open any of them, and a moment later he moved away to do something else instead. Edward glared at his back until he vanished into the kitchen, and then sipped the broth thoughtfully.

Mustang had yet to say anything more about Edward talking in his sleep, but Edward was finding it difficult to concentrate on reading ... the Colonel didn't have too many books that weren't about alchemy, and the ones he did have were mainly focused on war, history, or the history of war. None of these was a subject that interested Edward a whole lot, and it was even harder to force an interest when the worry about what he'd said kept intruding. What could Mustang possibly think about that, assuming he knew? Would he think Edward was some kind of irredeemable deviant?

He drank the broth slowly, to keep from upsetting his stomach again. He felt a great deal better, but the fretting was starting to get to him. When it was gone, he set the mug on the floor beside the couch and picked up his book again.

An irreverent hand flipped up the book almost before he'd settled it, as Mustang checked out the title. "Quit that," said Edward, annoyed, as he pulled the book away and resettled it on his upraised knees.

"Interesting choice," said Mustang. "Didn't know you cared about medieval siege engines."

"I'm trying to care, but it's hard when people mess around with my books."

Mustang was silent for a moment, before offering, "I have a copy of _Organic Transubstantiation_ if you'd rather read that."

"No thank you."

Although Edward did not look at him, or make any other kind of invitation to continue the conversation, Mustang went down to a crouch to get more on eye-level with Edward and said, "Are you sure? You were talking about wanting a copy last year, and I know you never got one."

"Pretty sure. Do you mind? I'm trying to read and you're going to wake Al." When Mustang just continued to watch him, Edward scowled at him and said, "That's a polite way of saying I'd like you to leave me alone, Colonel. I'm not interested in being your distraction from work."

"Giving up on alchemy isn't going to help anyone," said Mustang.

"Who said I'd given up on alchemy?" Edward transferred his scowl back to his book.

"Don't insult me. You didn't even ask about your assessment."

"Maybe because I was too busy throwing up. Or maybe I knew a certain someone would cover it for me and I don't care about the details."

"Or maybe you were hoping you would fail it by default. You know it's not that easy, Fullmetal. I didn't even touch it, but your assessment came back with a passing grade."

"I am well aware of how not-easy it is," said Edward, deliberately turning the page, although he hadn't actually read any of the previous ones. His heart sank a little at hearing about his nonexistent assessment; he'd more than half-suspected that something like that had happened, but it was depressing to hear it nevertheless.

"If you really want out, I could find some way to get you discharged. You're not going to default out, not ever, but there are other ways."

"Thanks, but I don't need your help, sir." Edward hoped the stiff formality would get rid of Mustang, but there just came another long, silent appraisal.

What did Mustang know?

"What are you going to do with your next assignment?" asked the Colonel eventually. "You can't take your brother with you the way you used to, not with him like this."

"I'll figure that out when it comes up. I'm not leaving him behind, though, you can count on that."

A slender black eyebrow quirked upward, and Mustang said, "You'd take him with you?"

Through a masterful force of will, Edward ostentatiously turned the page again, and made his voice nonchalant as he said, "Of course. It's not like he can take care of himself." What did that look mean? Had he just given himself away? Did Mustang think he wanted his brother near him just so they could have sex?

"Let me see if I understand this. You would take your brother, in this condition, along with you on military assignments, into situations where he could be injured or killed, or kidnapped and held hostage to control you?"

Anger surfaced immediately, drowning out the shame and anxiety. "Don't you think I've thought of that? I'll figure something out when the time comes!"

Mustang just looked skeptically at him for a moment, and so Edward turned back to his book and said, "I'm going to tell Lieutenant Hawkeye why you didn't get your work done if you don't leave me alone."

"You wouldn't dare. I still sign off on your expense reports."

"Try me."

* * *

The ceiling creaked softly under the weight of footsteps, and Edward froze. Alphonse mmmed gently, one hand groping heavily through Edward's hair, and Edward stroked his hands up his brother's thighs to quiet him. Alert and wary, he waited for the sound to repeat, and when it didn't he leaned forward to take his brother's cock into his mouth again. His automail knee scraped across the floor as he shifted his balance.

It was a good thing that Alphonse was quiet, because the house was absolutely silent, and the wet sounds of Edward's mouth sounded very loud to him; his brother's breathing and his own were harsh in the small room, echoing against the closed door. This was such a bad idea, such a terrible idea, especially since he still felt indiscriminately ill, but that had never stopped Edward before, and it didn't stop him now.

Kneeling on the floor between his brother's thighs, Edward swallowed as much of Alphonse's cock as he could without gagging on it. His perceptions of taste and smell were thrown off by his illness, so that it wasn't what he remembered from when he'd done this a few days ago in the inn in New Dalwar, but it was intoxicating just the same. The feel of it in his mouth was just _right,_ somehow, and the way he could make Alphonse twitch and whimper by running his tongue, _there,_ under the ridge ...

Bracing himself with his automail hand on the side of the mattress, Edward drew back a little to suck just on the crown of Alphonse's cock. His left hand went between his own legs, absently stroking his erection as he dragged out his brother's pleasure. He still felt somewhat out of sorts - tired, just generally unwell somehow, and nausea never felt like it was too far away - but he couldn't possibly say no to Alphonse, not when his brother had woken him with messy kisses and needy whimpers. And it wasn't as if he minded, per se. The hands in his hair were gentle, the air that touched his naked back was cool but not cold, and the scent of his brother's heated skin was delicious even through his dulled senses.

Another abrupt creak, and Edward paused again. The pause was met by a soft moan; Edward climbed back up onto the bed and straddled his brother's lap, to silence Alphonse with a deep kiss. The wet slide of his brother's erection against his own was enough to make Edward want to moan as well, but he swallowed it in order to better listen for Mustang moving around.

As before, the creak did not repeat itself, and presently Edward gently pushed his brother to lay back, and kissed his way down to Alphonse's erection once more.

Doing this, here, in Mustang's guest bedroom, on Mustang's own furniture, was even more weird than doing it in the inn in New Dalwar. It felt even more bizarre this time, laying on his side between Alphonse's legs, licking wetly up and down the soft vein on the underside of Alphonse's hardness, and finally leaning up to take the tip between his lips once more. Even more disconnected from what he was actually doing. He had his _mouth_ on his _brother's cock_ after all, giving sexual stimulation to a boy he'd comforted in thunderstorms when he was seven years old. His left hand drifted to his erection again as he braced himself on his automail elbow, and he choked on a moan as he squeezed himself, and thumbed the head of his own cock as he licked the head of his brother's.

There was no surprise this time, when Alphonse's came, writhing on the sheets as Edward swallowed the semen and sucked gently for more. The sounds Alphonse made were quiet, which was a good thing, but Edward could hear them just fine in the otherwise total silence of the room, and they made his cock throb in his hand.

He crept up to kiss Alphonse then, to lay beside his brother and just kiss softly with Alphonse's arms around his neck, and he slowly stroked himself and breathed his desire into that perfect mouth. Edward's skin was damp by the time he arched into orgasm, his forehead sticking to Alphonse's shoulder as he panted and swallowed and pressed himself against his brother in ecstasy. His headache came back as the pleasure faded and the pressure drained away, but it wasn't too bad, and Alphonse snuggled him happily.

How could this be wrong?

* * *

Edward woke up late for breakfast, and only managed to put on some pants and drag himself to the table by reminding himself that it would be Mustang cutting his brother's food if he didn't. He ate a little egg, and drank more of Hawkeye's reheated broth, and felt much better for it.

It might have been his imagination, but Mustang seemed to be watching the both of them a lot more closely. Twice at breakfast, and again when Edward had created his nest of blanket and pillow on the couch to read, he happened to glance up and caught the Colonel giving him a strange look. Neither of them commented on it, but it made Edward's gut twist a little.

Mustang left two hours or so after breakfast. He didn't say where he was going, but he was wearing his uniform and carrying the files Hawkeye had brought the day before, so it wasn't hard to guess.

"What does he know?" Edward asked Alphonse softly, after his brother came creeping over to sit on the floor beside the couch in the silence of the empty house. "What did I say to him when I was out of it?" Alphonse just looked at him, and smiled a pleased smile, so that Edward ran his hands through his brother's hair and tilted his face up for a kiss.

Around midmorning, Edward fell asleep on the couch with Alphonse on the floor beside him, and only wakened when Mustang came in the door well into the afternoon. The Colonel glanced from Alphonse to Edward and back again, but only asked if they'd eaten anything, and went into the kitchen when Edward admitted that they hadn't.

It was enough to make Edward wish the man would just come out and accuse him of having incestuous sex with his nearly-incapacitated brother.

Mustang was considerate enough to bring Edward's dinner out to him, even though Edward felt perfectly capable of eating at the table, and that necessitated bringing Alphonse a plate as well. Edward cut his brother's meat into small chunks, and spread the potatoes out over the top of it the way Alphonse used to like, and once more he looked up to find Mustang's dark eyes on him.

What had he heard? Was he _listening_ to them the night before? Was that what all that squeaking had been about? If confronted about it, Edward would have no defense ... it had started out innocent enough, just him trying to help his brother relieve his frustration, but it wasn't innocent anymore. Edward liked it. He liked the taste of his brother's come, the smell of his brother's skin, the feel of his brother's body against his own. He could get hard just thinking about it, and the slow kisses they sometimes shared were memories. And it was true that Alphonse could not really consent ... Alphonse certainly seemed to enjoy it, or Edward wouldn't have continued, but there was no way to know for sure.

There had been no guilt when he'd come, shuddering, against Alphonse the night before, but the guilt that settled like lead in his belly now more than made up for the earlier lack, and he used his illness as an excuse for why he didn't eat very much.

When Alphonse was finished eating, Edward unwrapped himself from his blanket and said, "Come on, Al."

"Where are you going?" asked Mustang quietly.

"Going to give my brother a bath, if that's okay with you." Perhaps the hostility was unfair, but Edward was unaccountably nervous. He had his reasons all lined up, of course ... someone had to do it, and who better than Alphonse's own kin? There was nothing more innocent than a bath.

"Fullmetal," said Mustang, and Edward's heart dropped in abrupt terror at the tone. "I need to ask you something."

_Here it comes._ Edward busied himself trying to get Alphonse to stand, refusing to look at his commanding officer. "I'm just going to wash his hair. Nothing more than that. There's nothing wrong with that." If Mustang said it, that would be the end. Edward had no idea what he would do when those words came out. Deny them? How? Try to convince the man that it was somehow okay and acceptable?

"Sit back down. And look at me."

It took a few moments for Edward to move, and when he did, it was in something like slow motion, or moving through glass. He sat down, flipping the blanket protectively over his thighs, and his hand dropped to his brother's hair by reflex.

He couldn't look at Mustang, though. His guilt and terror would be clearly visible in his eyes, he knew, and the instinct to conceal his panic was too strong.

After a long pause, Mustang said, "I don't want to say this to the top of your head, Fullmetal."

"What is it you want to say to me?" asked Edward. The anticipation was awful. Why couldn't the Colonel just do it and get it over with?

Then it came, and when it did, it wasn't quite was Edward had expected.

"For Alphonse's sake, Fullmetal, I need to ask you to let someone else take care of him for awhile, and leave him behind. You're keeping him from getting better."


	8. Chapter 8

_If I could have just one more wish_  
_I'd wipe the cobwebs from my eyes_  
_If I close my eyes forever_  
_Will it all remain unchanged?_

The city never really slowed down, but the bustle had a different quality after sundown. Once the snow started to fall it became particularly noticeable, as adult men and women paused to look up into the sky and smile at the huge, lacy flakes like children, or else hurry through the gathering darkness in an attempt to get home quickly before it started to blizzard.

Edward shoved his hands into his pockets to keep his left hand warm, and his right from picking up the cold as fast as it otherwise might. He did not look up, and only noticed the snow when it began to stick to objects around him. His red coat wasn't really thick enough or warm enough to properly keep the cold out, but the weather was insignificant at the moment ... a petty distraction.

_He's a lot more capable of taking care of himself than you seem to think._

Despite Edward being on the military payrolls for the entirety of his teenaged years and adult life, Central City didn't really have that familiar feel to it that a well-known city should. His military career had not been standard, not even for a State Alchemist; he hadn't realized it at the time, but he'd been allowed to skip a lot of the indoctrination that State Alchemists were generally required to undergo. Perhaps it had been his age ... Edward was inclined to think so. Perhaps someone at Headquarters had assumed that a twelve-year-old Edward lacked the patience for even the watered-down version of basic training that State Alchemists got, and had given him a pass in order to not piss him off and make him quit. So instead, he'd gone straight to East City with Mustang's unit, and whenever he returned from one of his assignments, it was to East City instead of Central. He'd never learned to shoot a gun, handle military correspondence, or how to requisition a vehicle out of the motor pool, and he'd learned how to read rank insignia only when Mustang got tired of getting chewed out whenever he called a general by the wrong rank.

Whoever had made this decision at Headquarters had been wrong, of course. Edward would have done it, and stayed with the military at any cost. He would have done anything for his brother.

_You do everything for him. He has no reason to try to get better than he is, because he doesn't have to. You assume that he's helpless and treat him like he is, and it makes him helpless._

_THAT'S NOT TRUE!_

_Then explain to me why he needs you to bathe him now, when he was able to do it himself the day before yesterday._

Someone bumped into him, and made a rude comment about it, but Edward didn't even look. He almost ran into someone else before he finally glanced up and realized he'd wandered onto Fenwick Boulevard, where the fashionable shops and restaurants were. It was still busy here, people shopping in the snow before the stores closed, and Edward turned away down a side street to escape it. The snow was getting thicker on the ground, with only the occasional spot of pavement visible between the interlinked flakes unless footsteps broke through.

Was it true? Edward had, of course, never seen Alphonse outside of his own presence. His brother hadn't been behaving in any way that Edward found odd or unusual since he had recovered enough to get out of bed, but according to Mustang the difference was remarkable.

Could it be true?

_So ... what? You think I should just let him fall when he trips? You think I should let him stab himself with a knife trying to cut his own food?_

_You would never have learned to walk, Fullmetal, if your mother hadn't let you fall a couple of times._

Edward had to stop for a minute and lean up against the side of a building for support, because the tears in his eyes were blinding him, and emotion was crushing his lungs. He was doing it again, apparently. No matter what he tried, no matter how good his intentions, he always screwed it up. And when he screwed up, he did it spectacularly, and it was always Alphonse who suffered for it.

_Could_ Alphonse be better by now? Speaking, functioning, getting on with his life, if it hadn't been for Edward coddling him? He couldn't believe that. He couldn't. Even if it were true, Edward just couldn't believe it. Believing that would mean believing that he had been damaging his brother for almost a year now, destroying him with kindness. He pulled his coat in closer around him, clenching his fists and crossing his arms over his belly to hold in the pain that was twisting inside him like a live thing. It was going to make him sick again at this rate.

How could he do that? How could he do that to his own brother, and not even see it?

Would he have noticed it, if he hadn't fallen in love with Alphonse?

His ears were chilled through, a dull throbbing numbness and relentless ache. He ignored it. After a few minutes, the nauseating guilt in his belly loosened a bit, and he pushed himself upright and started walking again. No one spoke to him.

_... what exactly are you trying to tell me here?_

_I'm trying to tell you that he's never going to get better with you around._

Winry had tried to help him, he realized that now. It had made him angry when she'd asked, and probably she hadn't seen it as clearly as Mustang did. But some part of her must have known. By asking Edward to leave Alphonse behind in Risenbourg, she hadn't been acting on a selfish desire to be the caretaker of a person she loved as much as Edward did. She hadn't been trying to free Edward from some kind of perceived burden, or trying to keep Alphonse away from a potentially dangerous environment. Or, perhaps it had been all of those things, but she must have also known, on some level, that Edward was having more of a detrimental effect on Alphonse than a helpful one.

Girls were perceptive like that, in Edward's experience. Knowing things that sometimes they didn't even know they knew.

As usual, Edward had listened to no one but himself. Nobody else understood what Alphonse needed, he'd imagined. Nobody could. As usual, Edward was infallible in his own mind, and no one could tell him different. It had always been that way, and only Alphonse could beat some sense into him, and even then only sometimes ... did he always have to be such an arrogant bastard? Perhaps it was because he never seemed to suffer much for his own mistakes; it was always Alphonse who bore the brunt of it.

He had to stop again to press his fists into his middle against the pain there, and blink to clear his vision. His left leg had begun to pick up the frigid cold, sending a warning ache into his thigh. He should probably find a restaurant or something to warm up some ... it was a good hour or more walk back to Mustang's place, and he should get his ears thawed and his automail to a more acceptable temperature before turning back. His footsteps, however, continued to carry him away from that quiet little house, and he did nothing to seek warmth.

What was it all for, in the end?

_You can't make me leave him._

_You're right. I can't. But I can ask you to, because if you love your brother, you'll want to do what's right by him. Don't you? Or do you just like to see him this way?_

When their mother had lain dying, the vicar had come by to - in Edward's opinion at the time - spout empty platitudes at them. Everything happens for a reason, he'd said, you have to just trust in God's wisdom. No matter how bad things seem now, you just have to trust that they would have been even worse, if things hadn't turned out this way.

Edward had never been much inclined to believe that, but when the light had faded from his mother's eyes, the doubt became impossible to ignore. It was hard to imagine a worse outcome that involved his mother living. When the wild transmutation reaction had eaten his leg and his brother, and he'd looked for the first time upon the obscenity that was the Gate, and then seen the abomination that was the homunculus he'd created, a kind of certainty that he'd never known before had settled into his heart. If his mother had lived, none of this would have happened. True, there was no way to know what _would_ have happened, but it couldn't possibly have been worse than what actually did.

He wished he could have the kind of gentle faith that people like the village vicar had, or that innkeeper in New Dalwar, or any number of other people he'd known. Most were religious, but some believed in no god, and all of them had a kind of quiet acceptance that, come what may, everything always eventually worked out for the best. It just wasn't always possible to see it when it was in progress.

The snow was starting to come down more heavily, and the sound of Edward's footsteps changed under his boots, ringing hollowly. The wind picked up somewhat, biting into his ears and knifing through the insufficient protection of his coat, and he glanced up to find that he'd come to the Sixth Street Bridge, crossing the river. He stopped halfway across, at the apex of the low arch, and leaned against the railing as the occasional car whirred by behind him.

"I want to believe," he said, looking down into the black water. It would be nice to think that it had all been for some purpose, and everything would turn out for the best. It would be so nice to just throw it all into the lap of some kind of overarching spirit, one that could take the responsibility away from him.

He wanted to believe that there was something ... more to the world, than what he could affect. It was a frightening thought, that this was all there was, and he could do permanent damage to the world around him, and the people in it. By accident or design, if this was all there was ... if there was only one chance at life ... if there was nothing protecting him from the world, and nothing protecting the world from him ... it was just too dreadful to imagine that he could have had only this one chance and, blindly, screwed it up.

He wanted to believe, but just couldn't. There was no reason to think that there was some benevolence guiding him, all unknowing, and that this was the best of all possible outcomes. There was no reason to believe in anything more divine than his own intellect.

What did people do when their gods failed them?

His leg ached. His ears ached. His shoulder was starting to ache, and so were the fingers of his left hand. And the place inside him where his faith should have been ached, burning with the misery of knowing too much and being too practical.

"He'd be better off without me," Edward murmured to the river. The wind was icy, and the water must be, too. "He'd be better off right now if I had never existed."

His gloved hand closed over the metal bar of the railing.

* * *

It was Alphonse glaring at him that finally made Roy go out to find Fullmetal. If asked, he wouldn't have admitted it, because it would have been embarrassing to tell someone else that he'd been guilt-tripped into coming out in the freezing cold and snow by someone who didn't even talk.

"I didn't tell him anything that wasn't true," Roy had told Alphonse when the death glare started, about thirty seconds after Fullmetal had thrown on his coat and boots and stormed out the front door. "He just needs to calm down."

Then, when the snow started to fall, he'd said, "Your brother can take care of himself. You know that."

None of that had made a dent on Alphonse's silent rage, and Roy couldn't even be certain that the boy understood him. There was one thing that Fullmetal was right about - there was no way to know for sure what went on behind those tempestuous gray eyes.

"Fine," said Roy in the end, throwing down his newspaper and reaching for his overcoat. "I'll find him and bring him back. Stop looking at me like that."

Roy was kind of glad that he'd done it, now. It had gotten quite cold out, and Fullmetal hadn't taken the time to fully dress, just tossing on his red coat over his tank top before slamming the door behind him. Before he was even halfway to Jaefer Avenue, Roy was wishing he'd brought his scarf, or that he'd brought a car home that afternoon instead of having Havoc drive him.

Well, how could he have anticipated the day ending with him searching for one small young man in all of Central City?

He headed in the general direction of the city center, simply because there were likely to be more people about in that direction, and if he couldn't find someone who had seen Fullmetal, there was just no possible way Roy would be able to find him.

_We haven't been doing anything! We aren't doing anything wrong!_

Now that he was out of the house and away from Alphonse's withering anger, Roy started to wonder just what Fullmetal had meant by that. He certainly hadn't accused Fullmetal of doing anything ... wrong. Not in the way the boy had meant that panicked defense. He was going about this business with his brother all wrong, but that wasn't immoral, it was just mistaken.

As the snow began to fall more thickly, Roy decided that he was going to be very annoyed if he searched for Fullmetal out here all evening, only to find him snugly wrapped up on Roy's couch when he finally got home. He turned up the collar of his overcoat to protect his ears somewhat and stuffed his hands into his pockets.

On Ninth Street he finally ran into a few people, but none of them had seen Fullmetal. On West Xavier, there was a young woman that he vaguely recognized closing up a clothing boutique; he supposed he must have taken her out once or twice. She recognized him readily enough and flirted with him a little, but she hadn't seen Fullmetal either. The young man with her, however, whom Roy took to be her boyfriend, had.

"Little short guy, yeah, yellow hair? His coat was cool. I think he went up toward Fenwick."

Sometimes Roy wondered if Fullmetal did things like this to him on purpose. There was just no way for Fullmetal to do something logical, like head back to Roy's house after realizing that he was inadequately dressed, or make for Headquarters and get a dorm room for the night.

He had more luck on Fenwick - it was a good thing Fullmetal looked so distinctive, and that he was apparently moving pretty slowly. A man selling hot pastries out of a vending cart said that someone matching Fullmetal's description had passed that way not ten minutes earlier, and to Roy's great amusement he called the young alchemist a "kid" twice. Not even Roy was brave enough to do that, at least not to Fullmetal's face.

When Roy stepped onto the Sixth Street Bridge and caught a glimpse of red through the falling snow, he'd been looking for almost an hour. He was cold and tired, and just wanted to bring Fullmetal home to his brother, but something about the figure's posture made him stop before his presence was noticed. He wasn't sure what there was about it - the defeated slump to the young alchemist's shoulders, the way he stared at the black river, or the limp way he leaned against the railing with one knee braced against the concrete parapet that kept unwary feet and crashing cars on the bridge. Perhaps all of those things, but whatever it was, it made Roy pause some ten yards away and give Fullmetal a little privacy with his thoughts.

He had sort of expected the argument to send Fullmetal raging out of the house, but he'd also expected him to wander back on his own. That was the kind of person Fullmetal was - he had difficulty sometimes with realizing that he'd made a mistake, but once he knew that he'd made one, he'd try to set it right. Sometimes quite aggressively. Roy had expected the young man to come storming back in the door, in much the same way he'd stormed out, and angrily throw his error back at Roy like a challenge.

This loitering around on bridges was quite unexpected, and the way he was doing it bothered Roy a great deal. Fullmetal looked so ... small, out there, all alone. Small and cold; he must be freezing in that thin coat, and as Roy watched he thought he could see the young man shivering.

He was wondering how well Fullmetal might take it if Roy were to go over and offer his overcoat when the slumping figure straightened, and laid a hand decisively on the metal bar of the bridge railing. Even before Fullmetal raised a leg and planted one boot atop the parapet, Roy suddenly, horribly knew what he was planning to do, and the world skewed momentarily sideways because that just _was not possible._

The words were out of his mouth before he knew it. "Wait! Fullmetal!"

Fullmetal flinched, lost his balance before he got up onto the parapet, and almost fell onto the sidewalk. "Colonel," he said, surprised, as he quickly straightened up, drawing back a little but keeping one hand on the railing. "What are you doing here?"

There was no point in answering that, so Roy affected a casualness he did not feel, putting his hands into his overcoat pockets and letting himself slouch a little; his heart was still racing from what he'd almost watched Fullmetal do, and the nausea of fear was bitter in the back of his throat. "I know these things are generally beneath your notice, Fullmetal," he said, and surprised himself with how even his voice managed to be. "However, those of us who are normal mortals and worry about things like hypothermia have determined that it's cold and snowing."

Roy wasn't able to really see Fullmetal's expression - the younger alchemist was just too far away, and the light was too chancy - but he could tell it wasn't pleasant. "Leave me alone, Colonel," said Fullmetal, looking away and turning to stare out at the river again.

An impossible request. Roy took a few slow steps in that direction instead, sauntering with what he knew was almost exaggerated nonchalance. "I'm afraid that if I go home without you, your brother will murder me in my sleep," he said. "That glare he was giving me was scary."

Fullmetal flinched, shoulders hunching a little. "He won't hurt you. He wouldn't hurt anyone, that's not the kind of person he is."

Roy stopped about ten feet away and leaned against the railing himself. The water was black and slow, and reflected back the street- and house-lights with an oily gleam; the wind was bitter, having picked up the icy chill of the water as river and air flowed together. He wanted to get closer, twist his hand into the hood of Fullmetal's coat and just _hold,_ in case the young man got it into his head to try jumping off the bridge before Roy left, but he didn't dare get that close just yet. "What are you doing out here?" he asked, echoing Fullmetal's own question back at him.

The answer didn't come right away, and when it did, it was in a grudging, clipped tone. "Thinking."

"Hmm." The steel rail that topped the concrete parapet was leeching heat out of Roy's arms through shirt, jacket and overcoat, and he shifted his weight uncomfortably. The cold must have been excruciating for Fullmetal, who wasn't nearly as warmly dressed, and who hadn't even bothered to fasten up his coat or raise the hood. Indeed, out of the corner of his eye, Roy could see that the younger alchemist's cheeks were white, almost dead white against the bright gold of his hair and the red of his coat, and he was shivering violently.

"You know," said Roy, when the silence had lengthened too far, "you can stop punishing yourself anytime you like."

Perhaps that had been the wrong thing to say; Fullmetal's shivering grew immediately stiffer. "What would you know about it?"

"I dare say nobody blames you except you. Not the way you blame yourself, anyway. You've made mistakes. Everybody makes mistakes, what's important is what you do about it. I always thought you understood this."

"I do understand that," said Fullmetal, and the animosity that heated his voice was less veiled now. "What the hell would you know about it? Why are we even having this conversation?"

_Because if I don't have some kind of conversation with you, you'll jump off this bridge as soon as my back is turned and I'll be responsible for that._ Roy suddenly felt extremely tired, a feeling that did not blend well with his fearful certainty that Fullmetal was still about an inch away from climbing over the bridge railing. Why did everything that involved the Elrics always have to be so difficult? What in the world could he say? Making Fullmetal angry would be hideously easy, and it seemed he'd started to do it already without even trying, but that would only be a temporary fix. Letting out a soft sigh, Roy said, "I don't know, Fullmetal. You tell me."

There was nothing then but the whistle of the wind through the mysterious support framework on the underside of the bridge. Once again, Roy considered whether or not Fullmetal would brush him off if he offered his own overcoat. He had his uniform jacket on under it, and would probably be warmer without his coat than Fullmetal was right now, but Fullmetal probably wouldn't accept it and might even get angry at the offer. Roy didn't want to fight with Fullmetal tonight; evoking the younger alchemist's rage would not solve anything, and there was no telling what kinds of things the anger would conceal.

Beside him, into the silence, Fullmetal fidgeted, no doubt wondering when Roy was going to leave and allow him to kill himself in peace.

Deliberately, Roy turned around and put his back to the river, leaning against the railing with one foot kicked back up onto the parapet behind him. He looked up, watching the snow fall; it seemed to come out of nowhere, materializing the moment it hit the aura of light that surrounded the streetlamp above them. "You know," he said casually, "that water is cold."

"I'm sure it is." Hostility made the words sharp.

"Water that cold burns worse than fire. It's just this side of freezing, and probably the fact that it's moving is the only reason it hasn't frozen over already. It would hurt like hell to fall in."

"That's nice," said Fullmetal darkly. "Is there some specific reason you're telling me this?"

Words were so inadequate. There had been a time when it had been Roy who was the one flirting with his own mortality, sleeping with a loaded gun on the nightstand just in case he lost his courage in the middle of the night, and feeling like a walking corpse during the day. He remembered quite well how painful and bleak it could be to face up to one's own sins, but there seemed to be just no way for him to communicate to Fullmetal how well he understood.

In fact, the hardest thing to understand about Fullmetal was how the younger alchemist had found the resilience to face his sins more than once.

"I meant what I said before," said Roy quietly. "You need to let Alphonse go for a little while. But there will come a time when he asks for you, and what am I supposed to tell him when he does?"

There came a pained little squeal, an inhuman sound that Roy could not immediately identify. "That's not fair," said Fullmetal.

"Perhaps. I think he deserves a lot more credit for knowing what's going on than you seem to give him, so maybe he won't have to ask. Is that what you want?"

Fullmetal did not answer, and Roy did not press him. They stood there for what felt like a long time, as the wind chilled Roy's ears, and surely did worse to Fullmetal.

He should do something. Roy knew that, but he wasn't sure what form the action should take. He still wanted to wrap up Fullmetal in his coat, tuck the heavy oilcloth around that fragile shivering that racked the young man's body and trembled in his voice. He wanted to do this, but didn't try because Fullmetal seemed so determined to make himself suffer, with his thin red coat that wasn't even buttoned up and his thinner shirt. Had Roy been this frustrating to Maes, back all those years ago? It made him smile a little, to remember, even though it hurt ... Maes would have known what to say to Fullmetal. Maes always knew what to say, what to do, and Roy had never picked up the trick of it.

"What exactly do you want from me?"

Glancing to his side, Roy said, "What do you think I want from you?"

That high-pitched squeal came again, and this time Roy was able to see that Fullmetal was clenching his fist on the railing, and the automail hand was deforming the metal rail. "Just answer the damned question, Colonel. I'm not in the mood to play around with you."

Yes, Roy could see that. The way Fullmetal talked to him often bordered on insubordination, but ever since the Elrics had returned from Risenbourg, Fullmetal seemed to be in even less control of himself than usual, and tonight he no longer seemed to be making even the slightest effort. That didn't bode well. "I want you to come home to your brother," said Roy.

"What makes you think I wasn't going to do that anyway?" asked Fullmetal, with a note of furious desperation.

Roy just looked at him, and a moment later Fullmetal was glaring at the river once more. "I wasn't going to jump," he said.

"All right," said Roy agreeably, although he didn't believe it.

"I just came out here because I needed to think about a few things. All right?" Fullmetal's voice started to rise in pitch. "You made me mad, you knew that was going to happen so don't tell me you didn't, and I needed to get away from you and think about some stuff."

"Fullmetal, sometimes I wonder if it's possible for me to talk to you and _not_ make you mad." Sighing, Roy raised his elbows and rested them on the railing behind him. A passing car caught them both in its headlights, but it passed by in a whirr of engine and left the snow and silence to descend again in its wake; the wind it blew off competed for a moment with the wind off the river, and the confusion of air tugged at the hem of Roy's coat. "Sometimes it's tempting to take the easy way out, you know? Just a few seconds of pain and then all the pain is gone. No more nightmares, no more having to try to live with yourself. You never have to worry about facing anyone ever again."

"Shut up," said Fullmetal, and this time there was no mollifying "sir" appended to the end. Roy let it pass.

"Why? I'm just talking to myself." Roy hadn't thought that bleak emptiness was still present inside him ... he hadn't felt it in years. Not like this, with the life of the city seemingly so far away, and this child-alchemist, who had somehow turned into a young adult while Roy wasn't watching, contemplating a black river beside him. The mellow darkness and lethal cold of the bridge suddenly struck him as very beautiful.

"You don't know anything of what you're talking about."

Roy glanced sidelong at Fullmetal. "Don't I?"

"You have no idea ..." The emotion that twisted Fullmetal's lips and stole his voice was not one Roy could identify, and he held his peace until the moment passed, and Fullmetal fought it down. "You have no idea what I've done."

Roy was an instant away from assuring Fullmetal that yes, he knew perfectly well what the younger alchemist had done, when he hesitated. _We haven't been doing anything! We aren't doing anything wrong!_ He still didn't know what Fullmetal had meant by that frantic, panicked denial, and it gave him pause. What _could_ Fullmetal have done that wasn't obvious?

Watching the young alchemist stare in the direction of the river, obviously no longer really seeing it in favor of whatever invisible sins he thought he'd committed, Roy wasn't sure he wanted to know.

"So what has Alphonse done?" he asked eventually. It was an effort to keep his voice mild.

That ugly, twisted grimace was still on Fullmetal's lips when he turned slightly to glare at Roy. "He hasn't done anything. He hasn't done _anything."_

"Then don't punish him," said Roy.

The rail turned out to be a hollow steel tube, which protested its flattening under Fullmetal's fingers with a plaintive squeal. "I hate you."

"You've said that before."

"I mean it this time. _I hate you."_

Roy suspected that the person Fullmetal hated the most was himself, but if it helped to transfer some of that onto Roy, well, he didn't mind. Didn't mind that at all.

_"Fuck."_ With a vicious motion, Fullmetal yanked hard at the rail; it did not break, but it shrieked as it bent further, harsh in the soft cold air. Roy straightened, caught off-guard by the outburst of violence but not terribly surprised by it. "I hate you," said Fullmetal again, and Roy heard the unspoken corollary clearly.

Roy shucked off his overcoat; the wind bit through his uniform jacket almost immediately. Fullmetal flinched when the heavy coat fell onto his shoulders and almost pulled away, but Roy tugged the younger alchemist around to face him and didn't let go of the coat lapels. Baleful gold sneered up at him.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" White-gloved fingers appeared, folding around the edges of the coat to hold it, and Fullmetal shivered within the draping tent of black oilcloth.

"Let's go get you warmed up," said Roy, "and I'll call for a car." It was hard not to brush Fullmetal's hair out of his eyes; he looked so young, so terribly young and so bitterly cold, and it was so difficult to remember that he was not a child. His lips were almost blue with the cold, and the cheerful gold of his hair looked like it should belong to someone else, someone without those tired dark marks under his eyes. "Come on," he said, hesitating just a moment before sliding an arm around the back of Fullmetal's shoulders to turn him around and start him walking.

Fullmetal did not reply, and something unknotted in Roy's chest when they stepped off the bridge. Presently, as they got closer to Fenwick and the crowds that still lingered there, there was an uncomfortable little motion beside him, and he let his hand drop back to his side.

"Colonel," said Fullmetal quietly. He walked with his head slightly down, braid caught under the collar of Roy's overcoat.

"Hmm?"

"You won't ... tell anyone about this, will you?"

"No," said Roy. "Nobody has to know."

A slow pause, and then, "Colonel ... aren't you cold?"

"Kind of. Don't worry about it, though."

"It's snowing, you know. It's kind of stupid for you to give me your damned coat."

"Mmmm." Perhaps it was.

"I'm not giving it back."


	9. Epilogue

"It'll be okay," said Edward, kneeling in front of his brother to offer the paper flowers, and showing a smile that he did not feel at all.

Alphonse looked ... something. Something between doubtful and angry and frightened, and he refused to let go of the hem of Edward's coat. The sun, still low on the horizon as it edged into the sky, made the window glow, and painted the walls in shades of peach and tangerine. It was Edward's last morning in Mustang's home, but it would not be Alphonse's.

"I'll be back in no time, you'll see," said Edward, lying again as he toyed with the fragile thing of paper in his hand. He felt like it would kill him to turn his back on his brother and walk out that door with the intention of not coming back for ... how long? Months? Years maybe? There was no way to know, and that was half the agony of it ... he couldn't even point to a date on a calendar and say _This is when I'll be back._ Everything would depend on Alphonse, and how quickly he learned to care for himself.

Edward hadn't been sure that Alphonse would grasp what was happening; it had turned out that he'd figured it out when watching Edward pack. Alphonse was on the floor now, trying to hold Edward by the hem of his coat and giving Edward the most horrible looks.

Edward set down the ring of paper flowers on the floor and pushed his fingers through his brother's clipped hair, and rested his lips against Alphonse's forehead to inhale the scent of him. "I'll always love you, Al. I'm only doing this because I have to. You have to know that. I'm only doing this because I love you. Dammit." There was no helping it ... he had to release his suitcase and pull his brother into a tight hug, where they kneeled together on the dusty hardwood floor. Alphonse was warm and solid in his arms, and held him back with a ferocity that made Edward want to never let go.

But he had to. He'd miss his train if he didn't.

"I'll be back," he said, pulling the hem of his coat out of his brother's reach but not trying to pull himself out of reach just yet. "I swear it, as soon as ..." Was it fair to put limits on it? As soon as Alphonse was talking? As soon as he could make change at the market? "As soon as you're better. Nothing can keep us apart." He forced a smile for his brother, although the look in Alphonse's eyes was breaking his heart, and kissed him gently before smoothing back his hair.

"Look," he said, picking up the ring of interlinked paper flowers and offering it again to his brother. "I thought about making them real flowers, but I didn't want them to die on you. Here." The ring was large enough to fit over Alphonse's hand, and while it looked out of place on his brother's wrist, Edward felt it was safer there. Less likely to get crushed on accident. He kissed his brother again, and almost gave up when Alphonse whimpered a little and mouthed him back, but no. He couldn't let himself buckle under now.

He grabbed his suitcase and stood up, swiftly before Alphonse could get a grip on him again, and stepped back. "I love you," he whispered, over the tight knot in his throat. The plaintive whine that Alphonse began to make as he retreated was almost enough to rip him apart, but all the same he managed to back out of the room, and turn toward the front door.

Mustang watched him go from his seat at the desk, and Edward had a hard time looking the man in the eye. "You know I'll take care of him," said the Colonel quietly.

"You'd better," said Edward. And if the Colonel touched his brother, Edward swore to himself that he'd have Mustang's hide, but he couldn't voice the threat aloud no matter how much he wanted to. "And I want to know exactly how he's doing, all the time."

"If there's anything significant, I'll make sure you're notified as soon as possible," said Mustang mildly enough. Edward clenched his fist on the handle of his suitcase, because he could _hear_ Alphonse crying in the next room, and because Mustang's voice was more than he could stand. He hated the man for coming after him, for talking to him, for chaining him to a life he wasn't sure he wanted anymore, and at the same time he was ashamed that he'd made any of that necessary. The good part of this plan - the _only_ good part - was that he wouldn't have to look Mustang in the face over breakfast every morning anymore.

The broken, desperate noise that Alphonse was making crescendoed, and Edward looked toward the door of the guest bedroom. It didn't sound healthy ... it didn't sound sane, or right.

"You should go," said Mustang. "Or you'll miss your train."

"Yeah," said Edward, quite certain that Mustang's motivation for getting him to move had nothing to do with the train schedule. "I'll see you in, I don't know. A couple of weeks I guess. Or whenever."

"Take your time. There's no hurry on that one. Make sure you let me know whenever you move to a different town."

"Okay."

Edward turned, steeled himself, and walked out the front door and into the bright, glorious morning.

* * *

The noise began to settle down about half an hour after Fullmetal left, and it was only when it did that Roy decided to go check on Alphonse.

Sprawled out on the floor on his belly, the younger Elric was still sobbing disconsolately, only more quietly now, arms curled around some kind of ring of folded paper. Roy watched him from the doorway for a little while; Alphonse definitely understood that Fullmetal wasn't just stepping out for some air, and that was an encouraging sign, but it wasn't easy to witness this kind of grief. It made him feel like a voyeur.

"If there was any other way, you know I would have tried it," he said. "Now it's up to you."

Turning his head a little to the side, Alphonse caught Roy with one eye, and glared while still sniffling into the floor.

"The two of you just can't live like this." Roy went down into a crouch beside Alphonse, and picked up the paper ring to idly examine it. "And I can't believe that you'd _want_ to live like this. I can't ..."

He broke off. The ring was composed of a dozen or more tiny flowers, and they weren't folded the way Roy had originally assumed. Intertwined stems and leaves, and multiple shy spreads of petals, were formed whole out of the delicate paper, with no seams or creases at all.

Roy blinked at it, and then stood up and set the paper ring down on the bureau, feeling even worse than he had a moment before. "Tell you what," he said to Alphonse, "I'll let you call your brother to tell him to come back. Or write him. Whichever is better for you. I think that's fair."

It was hard not to apologize. Roy wasn't sorry at all for sending Fullmetal away, but it was difficult to stand there with Alphonse glaring hatefully at him and not apologize anyway, however irrational that might be.

Someday, he might get used to Elrics hating him for doing what was right by them, but it looked like that day hadn't come yet. He gave up, and padded back out into the living room.

Behind him, Alphonse continued to glower at the doorway for several minutes, but presently his attention wandered. He sat up, looking around at the room with the anger slowly bleeding out of his expression, until he let go of the emotion with a sigh. The play of the sunlight on the wall as the angle of the light changed caught his attention, and held it for quite some time, until the sun was high enough that the diffuse beauty solidified into a patch of brilliant yellow near the floor.

Alphonse looked away then, with great effort, turning his head to physically force his eyes away from the beautiful distraction of the sunlight on the wall. The ring of flowers his brother had made for him caught his eye next, and he frowned at it where it lay atop the bureau, out of reach unless he managed to get himself on his feet.

Then he crossed his legs, and closed his eyes. He leaned over with great deliberation, arm extended, index and middle fingers held stiffly outward. His fingertips trembled at first, but gradually the trembling steadied; very slowly, and with immense concentration, he began to trace an invisible circle on the floor.

_~ fin ~_


End file.
